MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 


WILLIAM  LE  QUEUX'S  BOOKS 

WORLD'S  OPINIONS. 

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ing English  novelist  of  to-day." — Neue  Frcie  Presse  (Vienna). 

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are  perfect." — Englishman   (Calcutta). 

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— -New   York  Herald. 

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always  exciting." — San   Francisco  Examiner. 

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very  apt  title,  'The  Master  of  Mystery.'  " — El  Diario  (Buenos 
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rely  on  being  interested  and  amused  by  his  stories." — Sydney 
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beaten." — Melbourne  Argus. 

"Mr.  Le  Queux's  large  public  are  never  satisfied.  They 
always  crave  for  more  from  his  pen." — Christchurch  Weekly 
Press  (New  Zealand). 


Mademoiselle,  with  the  truth  upon  her  lips  unuttered 
staggered  and  fell  back  heavily  upon  the  earpet! 


MADEMOISELLE 
OF  MONTE  CARLO 


BY 


WILLIAM  ;LE  QUEUX 

Author  of  "The  Doctor  of  Pimlico,"    "The  Intriguers." 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


Copyright,    1921 
By  WILLIAM    LE  QUEUX 


PRINTED  IN  THE  U.  S.  A, 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEF 

PAGE 

I 

The  Suicide's  Chair 

9 

II 

Concerns  a  Guilty  Secret  . 

21 

III 

In  the  Night 

35 

IV 

What  the  Dossier  Contained     . 

46 

V 

On  the  Hog's  Back 

60 

VI 

Facing  the  Unknown   . 

.       70 

VII 

From  Dark  to  Dawn 

.       84 

VIII 

The  White  Cavalier 

95 

IX 

Concerns  the  Sparrow  . 

.     106 

X 

A  Lesson  in  Argot  .... 

116 

XI 

More  About  the  Sparrow    . 

127 

XII 

The  Stranger  in  Bond  Street    . 

137 

XIII 

149 

XIV 

Red  Dawn 

160 

XV 

The  Nameless  Man 

173 

XVI 

The  Escrocs  of  London 

183 

XVII 

On  the  Surrey  Hills     . 

194 

XVIII 

The  Man  With  the  Black  Glove 

204 

XIX 

The  Sparrow 

216 

XX 

The  Man  Who  Knew   . 

226 

XXI 

The  Man  With  Many  Names 

237 

XXII 

Closing  the  Net 

247 

XXIII 

What  Lisette  Knew     . 

256 

XXIV 

264 

XXV 

The  Man  Cataldi  n 

274 

XXVI 

Lisette's  Disclosures     . 

284 

XXVII 

The  Inquisitive  Mr.  Shrimtton 

289 

XXVIII 

The  Sparrow's  Nest        . 

298 

XXIX 

The  Story  of  Mademoiselle 

306 

Conclusion 

314 

1694427 


MADEMOISELLE  OF   MONTE  CARLO 


MADEMOISELLE 
of  MONTE    CARLO 


FIRST  CHAPTER 


THE    SUICIDE'S    CHAIR 


"Yes!  I'm  not  mistaken  after  all!  It's  the  same 
woman!"  whispered  the  tall,  good-looking  young  Eng- 
lishman in  a  well-cut  navy  suit  as  he  stood  with  his 
friend,  a  man  some  ten  years  older  than  himself,  at  one 
of  the  roulette  tables  at  Monte  Carlo,  the  first  on  the 
right  on  entering  the  room — that  one  known  to  habitual 
gamblers  as  "The  Suicide's  Table." 

"Are  you  quite  certain?"  asked  his  friend. 

"Positive.    I  should  know  her  again  anywhere." 

"She's  very  handsome.  And  look,  too,  by  Jove ! — 
how  she  is  winning !" 

"Yes.  But  let's  get  away.  She  might  recognize  me," 
exclaimed  the  younger  man  anxiously.  "Ah!  If  I 
could  only  induce  her  to  disclose  what  she  knows  about 
my  poor  father's  mysterious  end  then  we  might  clear 
up  the  mystery." 

"I'm  afraid,  if  all  we  hear  is  true  about  her,  Made- 
moiselle of  Monte  Carlo  will  never  do  that,"  was  the 
other's  reply  as  they  moved  away  together  down  the 
long  saloon  towards  the  trente-et-quarante  room. 

"Messieurs!  Faites  voits  jcux,"  the  croupiers  were  cry- 

9 


io      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

ing  in  their  strident,  monotonous  voices,  inviting  players 
to  stake  their  counters  of  cent-sous,  their  louis,  or  their 
hundred  or  five  hundred  franc  notes  upon  the  spin  of 
the  red  and  black  wheel.  It  was  the  month  of  March, 
the  height  of  the  Riviera  season,  and  the  fetes  of  Mi- 
Careme  were  in  full  swing.  That  afternoon  the  rooms 
were  overcrowded,  and  the  tense  atmosphere  of  gambling 
was  laden  with  the  combined  odours  of  perspiration  and 
perfume. 

Around  each  table  were  crowds  four  or  five  deep 
behind  those  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  seats,  all  eager 
and  anxious  to  try  their  fortune  upon  the  rouge  or  noir, 
or  upon  one'  of  the  thirty-six  numbers,  the  columns,  or 
the  transversales.  There  was  but  little  chatter.  The 
hundreds  of  well-dressed  idlers  escaping  the  winter  were 
too  intent  upon  the  game.  But  above  the  click  of  the 
plaques,  blue  and  red  of  different  sizes,  as  they  were 
raked  into  the  bank  by  the  croupiers,  and  the  clatter  of 
counters  as  the  lucky  players  were  paid  with  deft  hands, 
there  rose  ever  and  anon : 

"Messieurs!    Faites  z?os  jeux!" 

Here  English  duchesses  rubbed  shoulders  with  the 
most  notorious  women  in  Europe,  and  men  who  at  home 
in  England  were  good  churchmen  and  exemplary  fathers 
of  families,  laughed  merrily  with  the  most  gorgeously 
attired  cocottes  from  Paris,  or  the  stars  of  the  film 
world  or  the  variety  stage.  Upon  that  wide  polished 
floor  of  the  splendidly  decorated  Rooms,  with  their  beau- 
tiful mural  paintings  and  heavy  gilt  ornamentation,  the 
world  and  the  half-world  were  upon  equal  footing. 

Into  that  stifling  atmosphere — for  the  Administration 
of  the  Bains  de  Mer  of  Monaco  seem  as  afraid  of  fresh 
air  as  of  purity  propaganda — the  glorious  afternoon  sun- 
light  struggled   through   the   curtained   windows,   while 


THE  SUICIDE'S  CHAIR  n 

over  each  table,  in  addition  to  the  electric  light,  oil- 
lamps  shaded  green  with  a  billiard-table  effect  cast  a 
dull,  ghastly  illumination  upon  the  eager  countenances 
of  the  players.  Most  of  those  who  go  to  Monte  Carlo 
wonder  at  the  antiquated  mode  of  illumination.  It  is, 
however,  in  consequence  of  an  attempted  raid  upon  the 
tables  one  night,  when  some  adventurers  cut  the  electric- 
light  main,  and  in  the  darkness  grabbed  all  they  could  get 
from  the  bank. 

The  two  English  visitors,  both  men  of  refinement 
and  culture,  who  had  watched  the  tall,  very  handsome 
woman  in  black,  to  whom  the  older  man  had  referred 
as  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo,  wandered  through 
the  trente-et-quarante  rooms  where  all  was  silence,  and 
counters,  representing  gold,  were  being  staked  with  a 
twelve-thousand  franc  maximum. 

Those  rooms  beyond  are  the  haunt  of  the  professional 
gambler,  the  man  or  woman  who  has  been  seized  by  the 
demon  of  speculation,  just  as  others  have  been  seized 
by  that  of  drugs  or  drink.  Curiously  enough  women  are 
more  prone  to  gamble  than  men,  and  the  Administration 
of  the  Etablissement  will  tell  you  that  when  a  woman  of 
any  nationality  starts  to  gamble  she  will  become  reckless 
until  her  last  throw  with  the  Devil. 

Those  who  know  Monte  Carlo,  those  who  have  been 
habitue's  for  twenty  years — as  the  present  writer  has 
been — know  too  well,  and  have  seen  too  often,  the 
deadly  influence  of  the  tables  upon  the  lighter  side  of 
woman's  nature.  The  smart  woman  from  Paris,  Vienna. 
or  Rome  never  loses  her  head.  She  gambles  always 
discreetly.  The  fashionable  cocottes  seldom  lose  much. 
They  gamble  at  the  tables  discreetly  and  make  eyes  at 
men  if  they  win,  or  if  they  lose.  If  the  latter  they  gen- 
erally obtain  a  "loan"  from  somebody.     What  matter? 


12      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

When  one  is  at  "Monty"  one  is  not  in  a  Wesleyan  chapel. 
English  men  and  women  when  they  go  to  the  Riviera 
leave  their  morals  at  home  with  their  silk  hats  and  Sun- 
day gowns.  And  it  is  strange  to  see  the  perfectly  re- 
spectable Englishwoman  admiring  the  same  daring  cos- 
tumes of  the  French  pseudo-"countesses"  at  which  they 
have  held  up  their  hands  in  horror  when  they  have  seen 
them  pictured  in  the  papers  wearing  those  latest  "crea- 
tions" of  the  Place  Vendome. 

Yes.  It  is  a  hypocritical  world,  and  nowhere  is  cant- 
ing hypocrisy  more  apparent  than  inside  the  Casino  at 
Monte  Carlo. 

While  the  two  Englishmen  were  strolling  over  the 
polished  parquet  of  the  elegant  world-famous  sallcs-de- 
jeu  "Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo"  was  experiencing 
qnite  an  extraordinary  run  of  luck. 

But  "Mademoiselle,"  as  the  croupiers  always  called 
her,  was  usually  lucky.  She  was  an  experienced,  and 
therefore  a  careful  player.  When  she  staked  a  maximum 
it  was  not  without  very  careful  calculation  upon  the 
chances.  Mademoiselle  was  well  known  to  the  Adminis- 
tration. Often  her  winnings  were  sensational,  hence  she 
served  as  an  advertisement  to  the  Casino,  for  her  suc- 
cess alwavs  induced  the  uninitiated  and  unwary  to  stake 
heavily,  and  usually  with  disastrous  results. 

The  green-covered  gaming  table,  at  which  she  was 
sitting  next  to  the  end  croupier  on  the  left-hand  side,  was 
crowded.  She  sat  in  what  is  known  at  Monte  as  "the 
Suicide's  Chair,"  for  during  the  past  eight  years  ten 
men  and  women  had  sat  in  that  fatal  chair  and  had 
afterwards  ended  their  lives  abruptly,  and  been  buried  in 
secret  in  the  Suicide's  Cemetery. 

The  croupiers  at  that  table  are  ever  watchful  of  the 
visitor  who,  all  unawares,  occupies  that  fatal  chair.    But 


THE  SUICIDE'S  CHAIR  13 

Mademoiselle,  who  knew  of  it,  always  laughed  the  super- 
stition to  scorn.  She  habitually  sat  in  that  chair — and 
won. 

Indeed,  that  afternoon  she  was  winning — and  very  con- 
siderably too.  She  had  won  four  maximums  en  plein 
within  the  last  half-hour,  and  the  crowd  around  the 
table  noting  her  good  fortune  were  now  following  her. 

It  was  easy  for  any  novice  in  the  Rooms  to  see  that 
the  handsome,  dark-eyed  woman  was  a  practised  player. 
Time  after  time  she  let  the  coups  pass.  The  croupiers' 
invitation  to  play  did  not  interest  her.  She  simply  toyed 
with  her  big  gold-chain  purse,  or  fingered  her  dozen  piles 
or  so  of  plaques  in  a  manner  quite  disinterested. 

She  heard  the  croupier  announce  the  winning  num- 
ber and  saw  the  rakes  at  work  dragging  in  the  stakes  to 
swell  the  bank.  But  she  only  smiled,  and  now  and  then 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

Whether  she  won  or  lost,  or  whether  she  did  not 
risk  a  stake,  she  simply  smiled  and  elevated  her  shoulders, 
muttering  something  to  herself. 

Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo  was,  truth  to  tell,  a 
sphinx  to  the  staff  of  the  Casino.  She  looked  about 
thirty,  but  probably  she  was  older.  For  five  years  she 
had  been  there  each  season  and  gambled  heavily  with 
unvarying  success.  Always  well  but  quietly  dressed,  her 
nationality  was  as  obscure  as  her  past.  To  the  staff 
she  was  always  polite,  and  she  pressed  hundred-franc 
notes  into  many  a  palm  in  the  Rooms.  But  who  she  was 
or  who  were  her  antecedents  nobody  in  the  Principality 
of   Monaco  could  ever  tell. 

The  whole  Cote  d'Azur  from  Hyeres  to  Ventimiglia 
knew  of  her.  She  was  one  of  the  famous  characters  of 
Monte  Carlo,  just  as  famous,  indeed,  as  old  Mr.  Drewett, 
the  Englishman  who  lost  his  big  fortune  at  the  tables, 


i4      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

and  who  was  pensioned  off  by  the  Administration  on 
condition  that  he  never  gamble  at  the  Casino  again. 
For  fifteen  years  he  lived  in  Nice  upon  the  meagre  pit- 
tance until  suddenly  another  fortune  was  left  him, 
whereupon  he  promptly  paid  up  the  whole  of  his  pension 
and  started  at  the  tables  again.  In  a  month,  however,  he 
had  lost  his  second  fortune.  Such  is  gambling  in  the 
little  country  ruled  over  by  Prince  Rouge-et-Noir. 

As  the  two  Englishmen  slipped  past  the  end  table 
unseen  on  their  way  out  into  the  big  atrium  with  its 
many  columns — the  hall  in  which  players  go  out  to  coo! 
themselves,  or  collect  their  determination  for  a  final 
flutter — Mademoiselle  had  just  won  the  maximum  upon 
the  number  four,  as  well  as  the  column,  and  the  croupier 
was  in  the  act  of  pushing  towards  her  a  big  pile  of 
counters  each  representing  a  thousand  francs. 

The  eager  excited  throng  around  the  table  looked 
across  at  her  with  envy.  But  her  handsome  countenance 
was  quite  expressionless.  She  simply  thrust  the  counters 
into  the  big  gold-chain  purse  at  her  side,  glanced  at  the 
white-gloved  fingers  which  were  soiled  by  handling 
the  counters,  and  then  counting  out  twenty-five,  each 
representing  a  louis,  gave  them  to  the  croupier,  ex- 
claiming: 

"Zero-trois!" 

Next  moment  a  dozen  persons  followed  her  play,  stak- 
ing their  cent-sous  and  louis  upon  the  spot  where  she 
had  asked  the  croupier  at  the  end  of  the  table  to. place 
her  stake. 

"Messieurs!  Faites  vos  jeux!"  came  the  strident  cry 
again. 

Then  a  few  seconds  later  the  croupier  cried : 

"Rien  ne  vas  plus!" 

The  red  and  black  wheel  was  already  spinning,  and 


THE  SUICIDE'S  CHAIR  15 

the  little  ivory  ball  sent  by  the  croupier's  hand  in  the 
opposite  direction  was  clicking  quickly  over  the  num- 
bered spaces. 

Six  hundred  or  more  eyes  of  men  and  women,  fevered 
by  the  gambling  mania,  watched  the  result.  Slowly  it 
lost  its  impetus,  and  after  spinning  about  unevenly  it 
made  a  final  jump  and  fell  with  a  loud  click. 

"Zcr-r-o!"  cried  the  croupier. 

And  a  moment  later  Mademoiselle  had  pushed  before 
her  at  the  end  of  the  croupier's  rake  another  pile  of 
counters,  while  all  those  who  had  followed  the  remark- 
able woman's  play  were  also  paid. 

"Mademoiselle  is  in  good  form  to-day,"  remarked  one 
ugly  old  Frenchwoman  who  had  been  a  well-known 
figure  at  the  tables  for  the  past  ten  years,  and  who  played 
carefully  and  lived  by  gambling.  She  was  one  of  those 
queer,  mysterious  old  creatures  who  enter  the  Rooms 
each  morning  as  soon  as  they  are  open,  secure  the  best 
seats,  occupy  them  all  the  luncheon  hour  pretending  to 
p1ay,  and  then  sell  them  to  wealthy  gamblers  for  a  con- 
sideration— two  or  three  louis  perhaps — and  then  at  once 
go  to  their  ease  in  their  own  obscure  abode. 

The  public  who  go  to  Monte  know  little  of  its  strange 
mysteries,  or  of  the  odd  people  who  pick  up  livings  there 
in  all  sorts  of  queer  ways. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  a  man  who  overheard  her.  "Made- 
moiselle has  wonderful  luck !  She  won  seventy-five 
thousand  francs  at  the  Cercle  Prive  last  night.  She  won 
cn'plcin  five  times  running.  Dicu!  Such  luck !  And  it 
never  causes  her  the  slightest  excitement." 

"The  lady  must  be  very  rich !"  remarked  an  American 
woman  sitting  next  to  the  old  Frenchwoman,  and  who 
knew  French  well. 

'Rich!      Of    course!      She    must    have    won    several 


«i 


16      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

million  francs  from  the  Administration.  They  don't  like 
to  see  her  here.  But  I  suppose  her  success  attracts 
others  to  play.  The  gambling  fever  is  as  infectious  as  the 
influenza,"  declared  the  old  Frenchwoman.  "Everyone 
tries  to  discover  who  she  is,  and  where  she  came  from 
five  years  ago.  But  nobody  has  yet  found  out.  Even 
Monsieur  Bernard,  the  chief  of  the  Surveillance,  does 
not  know,"  she  went  on  in  a  whisper.  "He  is  a  friend 
of  mine,  and  I  asked  him  one  day.  She  came  from 
Paris,  he  told  me.  She  may  be  American,  she  may  be 
Belgian,  or  she  may  be  English.  She  speaks  English  and 
French  so  well  that  nobody  can  tell  her  true  nationality." 

"And  she  makes  money  at  the  tables,"  said  the  Ameri- 
can woman  in  the  well-cut  coat  and  skirj^nc^small  hat. 
She  came  from  Chelsea,  Mass.,  and  it  was  her  first  visit 
to  what  her  pious  father  had  always  referred  to  as  the 
plague  spot  of  Europe. 

"Money !"  ejaculated  the  old  woman.  "Money  !  Dieul 
She  has  losses,  it  is  true,  but  oh ! — what  she  wins !  I 
only  wish  I  had  ten  per  cent,  of  it.  I  should  then  be 
rich.  Mine  is  a  poor  game,  madame — waiting  for  some- 
one to  buy  my  seat  instead  of  standing  the  whole  after- 
noon. You  see,  there  is  only  one  row  of  chairs  all 
around.  So  if  a  smart  woman  wants  to  play,  some  man 
always  buys  her  a  chair — and  that  is  how  I  live.  Ah ! 
madame,  life  is  a  great  game  here  in  the  Principality." 

Meanwhile  young  Hugh  Henfrey,  who  had  travelled 
from  London  to  the  Riviera  and  identified  the  mysterious 
mademoiselle,  had  passed  with  his  friend,  Walter  Brock, 
through  the  atrium  and  out  into  the  afternoon  sunshine. 

As  they  turned  upon  the  broad  gravelled  terrace  in 
front  of  the  great  white  facade  of  the  Casino  amid  the 
palms,  the  giant  geraniums  and  mimosa,  the  sapphire 
Mediterranean  stretched  before  them.     Below,  beyond 


THE  SUICIDE'S  CHAIR  17 

the  railway  line  which  is  the  one  blemish  to  the  pic- 
turesque scene,  out  upon  the  point  in  the  sea  the  constant 
pop-pop  showed  that  the  tir-aux-pigeons  was  in  prog- 
ress; while  up  and  down  the  terrace,  enjoying  the  quiet 
silence  of  the  warm  winter  sunshine  with  the  blue  hills 
of  the  Italian  coast  to  the  left,  strolled  a  gay,  irrespon- 
sible crowd — the  cosmopolitans  of  the  world :  politicians, 
financiers,  merchants,  princes,  authors,  and  artists — the 
crowd  which  puts  off  its  morals  as  easily  as  it  discards  its 
fur  coats  and  its  silk  hats,  and  which  lives  only  for 
gaiety  and  without  thought  of  the  morrow. 

"Let's  sit  down,"  suggested  Hugh  wearily.  "I'm  sure 
that  she's  the  same  woman — absolutely  certain !" 

"You  are  quite  confident  you  have  made  no  mistake — 
eh?" 

"Quite,  my  dear  Walter.  I'd  know  that  woman  among 
ten  thousand.  I  only  know  that  her  surname  is  Ferad. 
Her  Christian  name  I  do  not  know." 

"And  you  suspect  that  she  knows  the  secret  of  your 
father's  death?" 

"I'm  confident  that  she  does,"  replied  the  good-looking 
young  Englishman.  "But  it  is  a  secret  she  will,  I  fear, 
never  reveal,  unless — unless  I  compel  her." 

"And  how  can  you  compel  her?"  asked  the  elder  of 
the  two  men,  whose  dark  hair  was  slightly  tinged  with 
grey.  "It  is  difficult  to  compel  a  woman  to  do  any- 
thing," he  added. 

"I  mean  to  know  the  truth !"  cried  Hugh  Henfrey 
fiercely,  a  look  of  determination  in  his  eyes.  "That 
woman  knows  the  true  story  of  my  father's  death, 
and  I'll  make  her  reveal  it.  By  gad — I  will !  I  mean 
it!" 

"Don't  be  rash,  Hugh,"  urged  the  other. 

"Rash!"  he  cried.     "It's  true  that  when  my   father 


18      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

died  so  suddenly  I  had  an  amazing  surprise.  My  father 
was  a  very  curious  man.  I  always  thought  him  to  be  on 
the  verge  of  bankruptcy  and  that  the  Manor  and  the 
land  might  be  sold  up  any  day.  When  old  Charman,  the 
solicitor,  read  the  will,  1  found  that  my  father  had  a 
quarter  of  a  million  lying  at  the  bank,  and  that  he  had  left 
it  all  to  me — provided  I  married  Louise !" 

"Well,  why  not  marry  her?"  queried  Brock  lazily. 
"You're  always  so  mysterious,  my  dear  Hugh." 

"Why  ? — because  I  love  Dorise  Ranscomb.  But  Louise 
interests  me,  and  I'm  worried  on  her  account  because  of 
that  infernal  fellow  Charles  Benton.  Louise  poses  as 
his  adopted  daughter.  Benton  is  a  bachelor  of  forty- 
five,  and,  according  to  his  story,  he  adopted  Louise  when 
she  was  a  child  and  put  her  to  school.  Her  parentage  is 
a  mystery.  After  leaving  school  she  at  first  went  to  live 
with  a  Mrs.  Sheldon,  a  young  widow,  in  an  expensive 
suite  in  Queen  Anne's  Mansions,  Westminster.  After 
that  she  has  travelled  about  with  friends  and  has,  I  be- 
lieve, been  abroad  quite  a  lot.  I've  nothing  against 
Louise,  except — well,  except  for  the  strange  uncanny 
influence  which  that  man  Benton  has  over  her.  I  hate 
the  fellow !" 

"I  see !  And  as  you  cannot  yet  reach  Woodthorpe 
and  your  father's  fortune,  except  by  marrying  Louise 
— which  you  don't  intend  to  do — what  are  you  going  to 
do  now?" 

"First,  I  intend  that  this  woman  they  call  'Mademoiselle 
of  Monte  Carlo,'  the  lucky  woman  who  is  a  decoy  of  the 
Administration  of  the  Bains  de  Mer,  shall  tell  me  the 
true  circumstances  of  my  father's  death.  If  I  know 
them — then  my  hand  will  be  strengthened." 

"Meanwhile  you  love  Lady  Ranscomb's  daughter,  you 
say?" 


THE  SUICIDE'S  CHAIR  19 

"Yes.  I  love  Dorise  with  all  my  heart.  She,  of  course, 
knows  nothing  of  the  conditions  of  the  will." 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  moments,  interrupted 
only  by  the  pop-pop  of  the  pigeon-shots  below. 

Away  across  the  white  balustrade  of  the  broad  mag- 
nificent terrace  the  calm  sapphire  sea  was  deepening  as 
the  winter  afternoon  drew  in.  An  engine  whistled — that 
of  the  flower  train  which  daily  travels  express  from 
Cannes  to  Boulogne  faster  than  the  passenger  train-de- 
luxe, and  bearing  mimosa,  carnations,  and  violets  from 
the  Cote  d'Azur  to  Covent  Garden,  and  to  the  florists' 
shops  in  England. 

"You've  never  told  me  the  exact  circumstances  of  your 
father's  death,  Hugh,"  remarked  Brock  at  last. 

"Exact  circumstances?  Ah!  That's  what  I  want  to 
know.  Only  that  woman  knows  the  secret,"  answered 
the  young  man.  "All  I  know  is  that  the  poor  old  guv'- 
nor  was  called  up  to  London  by  an  urgent  letter.  We 
had  a  shooting  party  at  Woodthorpe  and  he  left  me  in 
charge,  saying  that  he  had  some  business  in  London  and 
might  return  on'  the  following  night — or  he  might  be 
away  a  week.  Days  passed  and  he  did  not  return.  Sev- 
eral letters  came  for  him  which  I  kept  in  the  library.  I 
was  surprised  that  he  neither  wrote  nor  returned,  when, 
suddenly,  ten  days  later,  we  had  a  telegram  from  the 
London  police  informing  me  that  my  father  was  lying  in 
St.  George's  Hospital.  I  dashed  up  to  town,  but  when 
I  arrived  I  found  him  dead.  At  the  inquest,  evidence 
was  given  to  show  that  at  half-past  two  in  the  morning 
a  constable  going  along  Albemarle  Street  found  him  in 
evening  dress  lying  huddled  up  in  a  doorway.  Thinking 
him  intoxicated,  he  tried  to  rouse  him,  but  could  not. 
A  doctor  who  was  called  pronounced  that  he  was  suffer- 
ing from  some  form  of  poisoning.     He  was  taken  to 


20      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

St.  George's  Hospital  in  an  ambulance,  but  he  never 
recovered.  The  post-mortem  investigation  showed  a 
small  scratch  on  the  palm  of  the  hand.  That  scratch  had 
been  produced  by  a  pin  or  a  needle  which  had  been 
infected  by  one  of  the  newly  discovered  poisons  which, 
administered  secretly,  give  a  post-mortem  appearance  of 
death  from  heart  disease." 

"Then  your  father  was  murdered — eh  ?  "  exclaimed 
the  elder  man. 

"Most  certainly  he  was.  And  that  woman  is  aware 
of  the  whole  circumstances  and  of  the  identity  of  the 
assassin." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"By  a  letter  I  afterwards  opened — one  that  had  been 
addressed  to  him  at  Woodthorpe  in  his  absence.  It  was 
anonymous,  written  in  bad  English,  in  an  illiterate  hand, 
warning  him  to  'beware  of  that  woman  you  know — 
Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo.'  It  bore  the  French  stamp 
and  the  postmark  of  Tours." 

"I  never  knew  all  this,"  Brock  said.  "You  are  quite 
right,  Hugh  !  The  whole  affair  is  a  tangled  mystery.  But 
the  first  point  we  must  establish  before  we  commence  to 
investigate  is — who  is  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo?" 


SECOND  CHAPTER 

CONCERNS    A   GUILTY    SECRET 

Just  after  seven  o'clock  that  same  evening  young  Hen- 
frey  and  his  friend  Brock  met  in  the  small  lounge  of  the 
Hotel  des  Palmiers,  a  rather  obscure  little  establishment 
in  the  Avenue  de  la  Costa,  Beliind  the  Gardens,  much 
frequented  by  the  habitues  of  the  Rooms  who  know 
Monte  Carlo  and  prefer  the  little  place  to  life  at  the 
Paris,  the  Hermitage,  and  the  Riviera  Palace,  or  the 
Gallia,  up  at  Beausoleil. 

The  Palmiers  was  a  place  where  one  met  a  merry 
cosmopolitan  crowd,  but  where  the  cocotte  in  her  bright 
plumage  was  absent — an  advantage  which  only  the 
male  habitue  of  Monte  Carlo  can  fully  realize.  The 
eternal  feminine  is  always  so  very  much  in  evidence 
around  the  Casino,  and  the  most  smartly  dressed  woman 
whom  one  might  easily  take  for  the  wife  of  an  eminent 
politician  or  financier  will  deplore  her  bad  luck  and  beg 
for  "a  little  loan." 

"Well,"  said  Hugh  as  his  friend  came  down  from  his 
room  to  the  lounge,  "I  suppose  we  ought  to  be  going — 
eh?  Dorise  said  half-past  seven,  and  we'll  just  get  across 
to  the  Metropole  in  time.  Lady  Ranscomb  is  always 
awfully  punctual  at  home,  and  I  expect  she  carries  out 
her  time-table  here." 

The  two  men  put  on  light  overcoats  over  their  dinner- 
jackets  and  strolled  in  the  warm  dusk  across  the  Gardens 
and  up  the  Galerie,  with  its  expensive  little  shops,  past 
the  original  Ciro's  to  the  Metropole. 

21 


22      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

In  the  big  hall  they  were  greeted  by  a  well-preserved, 
grey-haired  Englishwoman,  Lady  Ranscomb,  the  widow 
of  old  Sir  Richard  Ranscomb,  who  had  been  one  of  the 
greatest  engineers  and  contractors  of  modern  times.  He 
had  begun  life  as  a  small  jerry-builder  at  Golder's  Green, 
and  had  ended  it  a  millionaire  and  a  knight.  Lady  Rans- 
comb was  seated  at  a  little  wicker  table  with  her  daugh- 
ter Dorise,  a  dainty,  fair-haired  girl  with  intense  blue 
eyes,  who  was  wearing  a  rather  daring  jazzing  gown  of 
pale-blue,  the  scantiness  of  which  a  year  or  two  before 
would  have  been  voted  quite  beyond  the  pale  for  a  lady, 
and  yet  in  our  broad-minded  to-day,  the  day  of  undress- 
ing on  the  stage  and  in  the  home,  it  was  nothing  more 
than  "smart." 

Mother  and  daughter  greeted  the  two  men  enthusi- 
astically, and  at  Lady  Ranscomb's  orders  the  waiter 
brought  them  small  glasses  of  an  aperitif. 

"We've  been  all  day  motoring  up  to  the  Col  di  Tenda. 
Sospel  is  lovely !"  declared  Dorise's  mother.  *'Have 
you  ever  been  there?"  she  asked  of  Brock,  who  was  an 
habitue  of  the  Riviera. 

"Once — and  only  once.  I  motored  from  Nice  across 
to  Turin,"  was  his  reply.  "Yes.  It  is  truly  a  lovely 
run  there.  The  Alps  are  gorgeous.  I  like  San  Dalmazzo 
and  the  chestnut  groves  there,"  he  added.  "But  the 
frontiers  are  annoying.  All  those  restrictions.  Never- 
theless, the  run  to  Turin  is  one  of  the  finest  I  know." 

Presently  they  rose,  and  all  four  walked  into  the 
crowded  saHc-a-manger,  where  the  chatter  was  in  every 
European  language,  and  the  gay  crowd  were  gossiping 
mostly  of  their  luck  or  their  bad  fortune  at  the  tapis  vert. 
At  Monte  Carlo  the  talk  is  always  of  the  run  of  se- 
quences, the  many  times  the  zero-trois  has  turned  up, 
and  of  how  little  one  ever  wins  en  plein  on  thirty-six. 


CONCERNS  A  GUILTY  SECRET     23 

To  those  who  visit  "Charley's  Mount"  for  the  first 
time  all  this  is  as  Yiddish,  but  soon  he  or  she,  when 
initiated  into  the  games  of  roulette  and  trente-et-quarante, 
quickly  gets  bitten  by  the  fever  and  enters  into  the  spirit 
of  the  discussions.  They  produce  their  "records" — ■ 
printed  cards  in  red  and  black  numbers  with  which  they 
have  carefully  pricked  off  the  winning  numbers  with  a 
pin  as  they  have  turned  up. 

The  quartette  enjoyed  a  costly  but  exquisite  dinner, 
chatting  and  laughing  the  while. 

Both  men  were  friends  of  Lady  Ranscomb  and  fre- 
quent visitors  to  her  fine  house  in  Mount  Street.  Hugh's 
father,  a  country  landowner,  had  known  Sir  Richard 
for  many  years,  while  Walter  Brock  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Lady  Ranscomb  a  couple  of  years  ago  in 
connexion  with  some  charity  in  which  she  had  been 
interested. 

Both  were  also  good  friends  of  Dorise.  Both  were 
excellent  dancers,  and  Lady  Ranscomb  often  allowed 
them  to  take  her  daughter  to  the  Grafton,  Ciro's,  or  the 
Embassy.  Lady  Ranscomb  was  Hugh's  old  friend,  and 
he  and  Dorise  having  been  thrown  together  a  good  deal 
ever  since  the  girl  returned  from  Versailles  after  finish- 
ing her  education,  it  was  hardly  surprising  that  the  pair 
should  have  fallen  in  love  with  each  other. 

As  they  sat  opposite  each  other  that  night  the  young 
fellow  gazed  into  her  wonderful  blue  eyes,  yet,  alas !  with 
a  sinking  heart.     How  could  they  ever  marry? 

He  had  about  six  hundred  a  year — only  just  sufficient 
to  live  upon  in  these  days.  His  father  had  never  put 
him  to  anything  since  he  left  Brasenose,  and  now  on  his 
death  he  had  found  that,  in  order  to  recover  the  estate, 
it  was  necessary  for  him  to  marry  Louise  Lambert,  a 
girl  for  whom  he  had  never  had  a  spark  of  affection. 


24      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Louise  was  good-looking,  it  was  true,  but  could  he  sacri- 
fice his  happiness ;  could  he  ever  cut  himself  adrift  from 
Dorise  for  mercenary  motives — in  order  to  get  back 
what  was  surely  by  right  his  inheritance? 

Yet,  after  all,  as  he  again  met  Dorise's  calm,  wide- 
open  eyes,  the  grim  truth  arose  in  his  mind,  as  it  ever 
did,  that  Lady  Ranscomb,  even  though  she  had  been  so 
kind  to  him,  would  never  allow  her  only  daughter  to 
marry  a  man  who  was  not  rich.  Had  not  Dorise  told 
him  of  the  sly  hints  her  mother  had  recently  given  her 
regarding  a  certain  very  wealthy  man  named  George 
Sherrard,  an  eligible  bachelor  who  lived  in  one  of  the 
most  expensive  flats  in  Park  Lane,  and  who  was  being 
generally  sought  after  by  mothers  with  marriageable 
daughters.  In  many  cases  mothers — and  especially 
young,  good-looking  widows  with  daughters  "on  their 
hands" — are  too  prone  to  try  and  get  rid  of  them  "be- 
cause my  daughter  makes  me  look  so  old,"  as  they  whis- 
per to  their  intimates  of  their  own  age. 

After  dinner  all  four  strolled  across  to  the  Casino, 
presenting  their  yellow  cards  of  admission — the  monthly 
cards  granted  to  those  who  are  approved  by  the  smug- 
looking,  black-coated  committee  of  inspection,  who  judge 
by  one's  appearance  whether  one  has  money  to  lose. 

Dorise  soon  detached  herself  from  her  mother  and 
strolled  ur>  the  Rooms  with  Hugh,  Lady  Ranscomb  and 
Brock  following. 

None  of  them  intended  to  play,  but  they  were  strolling 
prior  to  going  to  the  opera  which  was  beneath  the  same 
roof,  and  for  which  Lady  Ranscomb  had  tickets. 

Suddenly  Dorise  exclaimed : 

"Look  over  there — at  that  table  in  the  corner.  There's 
that  remarkable  woman  they  call  'Mademoiselle  of  Monte 
Carlo' !" 


CONCERNS  A  GUILTY  SECRET     25 

Hugh  started,  and  glancing  in  the  direction  she  indi- 
cated saw  the  handsome  woman  seated  at  the  table 
staking  her  counters  quite  unconcernedly  and  entirely- 
absorbed  in  the  game.  She  was  wearing  a  dead  black 
dress  cut  slightly  low  in  the  neck,  but  half-bare  shoulders, 
with  a  string  of  magnificent  Chinese  jade  beads  of  that 
pale  apple  green  so  prized  by  connoisseurs. 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  revolving  wheel,  for 
upon  the  number  sixteen  she  had  just  thrown  a  couple 
of  thousand  franc  counters.  The  ball  dropped  with  a 
sudden  click,  the  croupier  announced  that  number  five 
had  won,  and  at  once  raked  in  the  two  thousand  francs 
among  others. 

Mademoiselle  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  smiled 
faintly.  Yvonne  Ferad  was  a  born  gambler.  To  her 
losses  came  as  easily  as  gains.  The  Administration  knew 
that — and  they  also  knew  how  at  the  little  pigeon-hole 
where  counters  were  exchanged  for  cheques  she  came 
often  and  handed  over  big  sums  in  exchange  for  drafts 
upon  certain  banks,  both  in  Paris  and  in  London. 

Yet  they  never  worried.  Her  lucky  play  attracted 
others  who  usually  lost.  Once,  a  year  before,  a  French- 
man who  occupied  a  seat  next  to  her  daily  for  a  month 
lost  over  a  quarter  of  a  million  sterling,  and  one  night 
threw  himself  under  the  Paris  rapidc  at  the  long  bridge 
over  the  Var.  But  on  hearing  of  it  the  next  day  from  a 
croupier  Mademoiselle  merely  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
and  said : 

"I  warned  him  to  return  to  Paris.  The  fool !  It  is 
only  what  I  expected." 

Hugh  looked  only  once  across  at  the  mysterious  woman 
whom  Dorise  had  indicated,  and  then  drew  her  away. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  no  intention  that  Made- 
moiselle should  notice  him. 


26      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"What  do  you  know  of  her?"  he  asked  in  a  casual 
way  when  they  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  great 
saloon. 

"Well,  a  Frenchman  I  met  in  the  hotel  the  day  before 
yesterday  told  me  all  sorts  of  queer  stories  about  her," 
replied  the  girl.  "She's  apparently  a  most  weird  person, 
and  she  has  uncanny  good  luck  at  the  tables.  He  said 
that  she  had  won  a  large  fortune  during  the  past  couple 
of  years  or  so." 

Hugh  made  no  remark  as  to  the  reason  of  his  visit 
to  the  Riviera,  for,  indeed,  he  had  arrived  only  the  day 
previously,  and  she  had  welcomed  him  joyously.  Little 
did  she  dream  that  her  lover  had  come  out  from  London 
to  see  that  woman  who  was  declared  to  be  so  notorious. 

"I  noticed  her  playing  this  afternoon,"  Hugh  said  a 
moment  later  in  a  quiet  reflective  tone.  "What  do  the 
gossips  really  say  about  her,  Dorise?  All  this  is  inter- 
esting.    But  there  are  so  many  interesting  people  here." 

"Well,  the  man  who  told  me  about  her  was  sitting 
with  me  outside  the  Cafe  de  Paris  when  she  passed 
across  the  Place  to  the  Casino.  That  caused  him  to  make 
the  remarks.  He  said  that  her  past  was  obscure.  Some 
people  say  that  she  was  a  Danish  opera  singer,  others 
declare  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  humble  tobacconist 
in  Marseilles,  and  others  assert  that  she  is  English.  But 
all  agree  that  she  is  a  clever  and  very  dangerous  woman." 

"Why  dangerous?"  inquired  Hugh  in  surprise. 

"Ah!  That  I  don't  know.  The  man  who  told  me 
merely  hinted  at  her  past  career,  and  added  that  she  was 
quite  a   respectable  person  nowadays   in  her  affluence. 

But — well "  added  the  girl  with  a  laugh,  "I  suppose 

people  gossip  about  everyone  in  this  place." 

"Who  was  your  informant?"  asked  her  lover,  much 
interested. 


CONCERNS  A  GUILTY  SECRET     27 

"His  name  is  Courtin.  I  believe  he  is  an  official  of 
one  of  the  departments  of  the  Ministry  of  Justice  in 
Paris.    At  least  somebody  said  so  yesterday." 

"Ah!  Then  he  probably  knew  more  about  her  than 
he  told  you,  I  expect." 

"No  doubt,  for  he  warned  my  mother  and  myself 
against  making  her  acquaintance,"  said  the  girl.  "He 
said  she  was  a  most  undesirable  person." 

At  that  moment  Lady  Ranscomb  and  Walter  Brock 
joined  them,  whereupon  the  former  exclaimed  to  her 
daughter : 

"Did  you  see  that  woman  over  there? — still  playing — 
the  woman  in  black  and  the  jade  beads,  against  whom 
Monsieur  Courtin  warned  us?" 

"Yes,  mother,  I  noticed  her.  I've  just  been  telling 
Hugh  about  her." 

"A  mysterious  person — eh?"  laughed  Hugh  with  well- 
affected  indifference.  "But  one  never  knows  who's  who 
in  Monte  Carlo." 

"Well,  Mademoiselle  is  apparently  something  of  a 
mystery,"  remarked  Brock.  "I've  seen  her  here  before 
several  times.  Once,  about  two  years  ago,  I  heard  that 
she  was  mixed  up  in  a  very  celebrated  criminal  case, 
but  exactly  what  it  was  the  man  who  told  me  could  not 
recollect.  She  is,  however,  one  of  the  handsomest  women 
in  the  Rooms." 

"And  one  of  the  wealthiest — if  report  be  true,"  said 
Lady  Ranscomb. 

"She  fascinates  me,"  Dorise  declared.  "If  Monsieur 
Courtin  had  not  warned  us  I  should  most  probably  have 
spoken  to  her." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  you  must  do  no  such  thing!"  cried 
her  mother,  horrified.     "It  was  extremely  kind  of  mon- 


28      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

sieur  to  give  us  the  hint.  He  has  probably  seen  how 
unconventional  you  are,  Dorise." 

And  then,  as  they  strolled  on  into  the  farther  room, 
the  conversation  dropped. 

"So  they've  heard  about  Mademoiselle,  it  seems !" 
remarked  Brock  to  his  friend  as  they  walked  back  to  the 
Palmiers  together  in  the  moonlight  after  having  seen 
Lady  Ranscomb  and  her  daughter  to  their  hotel. 

"Yes,"  growled  the  other.  "I  wish  we  could  get  hold 
of  that  Monsieur  Courtin.  He  might  tell  us  a  lot  about 
her." 

"I  doubt  if  he  would.  These  French  officials  are 
always  close  as  oysters." 

"At  any  rate,  I  will  try  and  make  his  acquaintance  at 
the  Metropole  to-morrow,"  Hugh  said.  "There's  no  harm 
in  trying." 

Next  morning  he  called  again  at  the  Metropole  before 
the  ladies  were  about,  but  to  his  chagrin,  he  learnt  from 
the  blue-and-gold  concierge  that  Monsieur  Courtin,  of 
the  Ministry  of  Justice,  had  left  at  ten-fifteen  o'clock  on 
the  previous  night  by  the  rap  id  e  for  Paris.  He  had  been 
recalled  urgently,  and  a  special  coupe-lit  had  been  re- 
served for  him  from  Ventimiglia. 

That  day  Hugh  Henfrey  wandered  about  the  well- 
kept  palm-lined  gardens  with  their  great  beds  of  gera- 
niums, carnations  and  roses.  Brock  had  accepted  the 
invitation  of  a  bald-headed  London  stockbroker  he  knew 
to  motor  over  to  lunch  and  tennis  at  the  Beau  Site,  at 
Cannes,  while  Dorise  and  her  mother  had  gone  with 
some  people  to  lunch  at  the  Reserve  at  Beaulieu,  one  of 
the  best  and  yet  least  pretentious  restaurants  in  all 
Europe,  only  equalled  perhaps  by  Capsa's,  in  Bucharest. 

"Ah !  If  she  would  only  tell !"  Hugh  muttered  fiercely 
to  himself  as  he  walked  alone  and  self-absorbed.     His 


CONCERNS  A  GUILTY  SECRET     29 

footsteps  led  him  out  of  Monte  Carlo  and  up  the  winding 
road  which  runs  to  La  Turbie,  above  the  beautiful  bay. 
Ever  and  anon  powerful  cars  climbing  the  hill  smothered 
him  in  white  dust,  yet  he  heeded  them  not.  He  was  too 
full  of  thought. 

"Ah !"  he  kept  on  repeating  to  himself.  "If  she  would 
only  tell  the  truth — if  she  would  only  tell !" 

Hugh  Henf  rey  had  not  travelled  to  Monte  Carlo  with- 
out much  careful  reflection  and  many  hours  of  wakeful- 
ness. He  intended  to  clear  up  the  mystery  of  his  fa- 
ther's death — and  more,  the  reason  of  that  strange  incom- 
prehensible will  which  was  intended  to  wed  him  to 
Louise. 

At  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  he  entered  the  Rooms 
to  gain  another  surreptitious  look  at  Mademoiselle.  Yes ! 
She  was  there,  still  playing  on  as  impcrturbably  as  ever, 
with  that  half-suppressed  sinister  smile  always  upon  her 
full  red  lips. 

Sight  of  her  aroused  his  fury.  Was  that  smile  really 
intended  for  himself?  People  said  she  was  a  sphinx, 
but  he  drew  his  breath,  and  when  outside  the  Casino 
again  in  the  warm  sunshine  he  halted  upon  the  broad 
red-carpeted  steps  and  beneath  his  breath  said  in  a  hard, 
determined  tone : 

"Gad!  She  shall  tell  me !  She  shall!  I'll  compel  her 
to  speak — to  tell  me  the  truth — or — or !" 

That  evening  he  wrote  a  note  to  Dorise  explaining  to 
her  that  he  was  not  feeling  very  well  and  excusing  him- 
self from  going  round  to  the  hotel.  This  he  sent  by  hand 
to  the  Metropole. 

Brock  did  not  turn  up  at  dinner.  Indeed,  he  did  not 
expect  his  friend  back  till  late.  So  he  ate  his  meal  alone, 
and  then  went  out  to  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  where  for  an 
hour  he  sat  upon  the  tcrrasse  smoking  and  listening  to 


3o      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

the  weird  music  of  the  red-coated  orchestra  of   Rou- 
manian gipsies. 

All  the  evening,  indeed,  he  idled,  chatting  with  men 
and  women  he  knew.  Carmen  was  being  given  at  the 
Opera  opposite,  but  though  he  loved  music  he  had  no 
heart  to  go.  The  one  thought  obsessing  him  was  of  the 
handsome  and  fascinating  woman  who  was  such  a  mys- 
tery to  all. 

At  eleven  o'clock  he  returned  to  the  cafe  and  took  a 
seat  on  the  terrasse  in  a  dark  corner,  in  such  a  position 
that  he  could  see  anyone  who  entered  or  left  the  Casino. 
For  half  an  hour  he  watched  the  people  passing  to  and 
fro.  At  last,  in  a  long  jade-green  coat,  Mademoiselle 
emerged  alone,  and,  crossing  the  gardens,  made  her 
way  leisurely  home  on  foot,  as  was  her  habit.  Monte 
Carlo  is  not  a  large  place,  therefore  there  is  little  use 
for  taxis. 

When  she  was  out  of  sight,  he  called  the  waiter  to 
bring  him  a  liqueur  of  old  cognac,  which  he  sipped,  and 
then  lit  another  cigarette.  When  he  had  finished  it  he 
drained  the  little  glass,  and  rising,  strolled  in  the  direc- 
tion the  woman  of  mystery  had  taken. 

A  walk  of  ten  minutes  brought  him  to  the  iron  gates 
of  a  great  white  villa,  over  the  high  walls  of  which 
climbing  roses  and  geraniums  and  jasmine  ran  riot.  The 
night  air  was  heavy  with  their  perfume.  He  opened  the 
side  gate  and  walked  up  the  gravelled  drive  to  the  ter- 
race whereon  stood  the  house,  commanding  a  wonderful 
view  of  the  moon-lit  Mediterranean  and  the  (far-off 
mountains  of  Italy. 

His  ring  at  the  door  was  answered  by  a  staid  elderly 
Italian  manservant. 

"I  believe  Mademoiselle  is  at  home,"  Hugh  said  in 


CONCERNS  A  GUILTY  SECRET     31 

French.     "I  desire  to  see  her,  and  also  to  apologize  for 
the  lateness  of  the  hour.     My  visit  is  one  of  urgency." 

"Mademoiselle  sees  nobody  except  by  appointment," 
was  the  man's  polite  but  firm  reply. 

"I  think  she  will  see  me  if  you  give  her  this  card,"  an- 
swered Hugh  in  a  strained,  unusual  voice. 

The  man  took  it  hesitatingly,  glanced  at  it,  placed  it 
upon  a  silver  salver,  and,  leaving  the  visitor  standing  on 
the  mat,  passed  through  the  glass  swing-doors  into  the 
house. 

For  some  moments  the  servant  did  not  reappear. 

Hugh,  standing  there,  entertained  just  a  faint  sus- 
picion that  he  heard  a  woman's  shrill  ejaculation  of 
surprise.     And  that  sound  emboldened  him. 

At  last,  after  an  age  it  seemed,  the  man  returned, 
saying : 

"Mademoiselle  will  see  you,  Monsieur.  Please  come 
this  way." 

He  left  his  hat  and  stick  and  followed  the  man  along 
a  corridor  richly  carpeted  in  red  to  a  door  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  house,  which  the  servant  threw  open 
and  announced  the  visitor. 

Mademoiselle  had  risen  to  receive  him.  Her  counte- 
nance was,  Hugh  saw,  blanched  almost  to  the  lips.  Her 
black  dress  caused  her  pallor  to  be  more  apparent. 

"Well,  sir?  Pray  what  do  you  mean  by  resorting  to 
this  ruse  in  order  to  see  me?  Who  are  you?"  she  de- 
manded. 

Hugh  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  in  a  hard  voice 
he  said : 

"I  am  the  son  of  the  dead  man  whose  card  is  in  your 
hands,  Mademoiselle !  And  I  am  here  to  ask  you  a  few 
questions !" 


32      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

The  handsome  woman  smiled  sarcastically  and 
shrugged  her  half-bare  shoulders,  her  fingers  trembling 
with  her  jade  beads. 

"Oh !  Your  father  is  dead — is  he  ?"  she  asked  with 
an  air  of  indifference. 

"Yes.  He  is  dead,"  Hugh  said  meaningly,  as  he 
glanced  around  the  luxurious  little  room  with  its  soft 
rose-shaded  lights  and  pale-blue  and  gold  decorations. 
On  her  right  as  she  stood  were  long  French  windows 
which  opened  on  to  a  balcony.  One  of  the  windows 
stood  ajar,  and  it  was  apparent  that  when  he  had  called 
she  had  been  seated  in  the  long  wicker  chair  outside 
enjoying  the  balmy  moonlight  after  the  stifling  atmos- 
phere of  the  Rooms. 

"And,  Mademoiselle,"  he  went  on,  "I  happen  to  be 
aware  that  you  knew  my  father,  and — and  that  you  are 
cognizant  of  certain  facts  concerning  his  mysterious  end." 

"I !"  she  cried,  raising  her  voice  in  sudden  indignation. 
"What  on  earth  do  you  mean?"  She  spoke  in  perfect 
English,  though  he  had  hitherto  spoken  in  French. 

"I  mean,  Mademoiselle,  that  I  intend  to  know  the 
truth,"  said  Hugh,  fixing  his  eyes  determinedly  upon 
hers.    "I  am  here  to  learn  it  from  your  lips." 

"You  must  be  mad !"  cried  the  woman.  "I  know  noth- 
ing of  the  affair.    You  are  mistaken !" 

"Do  you,  then,  deny  that  you  have  ever  met  a  man 
named  Charles  Benton?"  demanded  the  young  fellow, 
raising  his  voice.  "Perhaps,  however,  that  is  a  bitter 
memory,  Mademoiselle — eh?" 

The  strikingly  handsome  woman  pursed  her  lips. 
There  was  a  strange  look  in  her  eyes.  For  several  mo- 
ments she  did  not  speak.  It  was  clear  that  the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  dead  man's  son  had  utterly  unnerved 


CONCERNS  A  GUILTY  SECRET  33 

her.  What  could  he  know  concerning  Charles  Benton? 
How  much  of  the  affair  did  he  suspect? 

"I  have  met  many  people,  Mr. — er — Mr.  Henfrey," 
she  replied  quietly  at  last.  "I  may  have  met  somebody 
named  Benton." 

"Ah!  I  see,"  the  young  man  said.  "It  is  a  memory 
that  you  do  not  wish  to  recall  any  more  than  that  of  my 
dead  father." 

"Your  father  was  a  good  man.    Benton  was  not." 

"Ah !  Then  you  admit  knowing  both  of  them,  Made- 
moiselle," cried   Hugh  quickly. 

"Yes.  I — well — I  may  as  well  admit  it!  Why,  in- 
deed, should  I  seek  to  hide  the  truth — from  you,"  she 
said  in  a  changed  voice.  "Pardon  me.  I  was  very  upset 
at  receiving  the  card.     Pardon  me — will  you  not?" 

"I  will  not,  unless  you  tell  me  the  truth  concerning 
my  father's  death  and  his  iniquitous  will  left  concerning 
myself.  I  am  here  to  ascertain  that,  Mademoiselle,"  he 
said  in  a  hard  voice. 

"And  if  I  tell  you — what  then?"  she  asked  with  knit 
brows. 

"If  you  tell  me,  then  I  am  prepared  to  promise  you  on 
oath  secrecy  concerning  yourself — provided  you  allow 
me  to  punish  those  who  were  responsible.  Remember, 
my  father  died  by  foul  means.    And  you  know  it!" 

The  woman  faced  him  boldly,  but  she  was  very  pale. 

"So  that  is  a  promise?"  she  asked.  "You  will  pro- 
tect me — you  will  be  silent  regarding  me — you  swear  to 
be  so — if — if  I  tell  you  something.  I  repeat  that  your 
father  was  a  good  man.  I  held  him  in  the  highest  esteem, 
and — and — after  all — it  is  but  right  that  you,  his  son, 
should  know  the  truth." 

"Thank  you,  Mademoiselle.     I  will  protect  you  if  you 


34      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

will  only  reveal  to  me  the  devilish  plot  which  resulted  in 
his  untimely  end,"  Hugh  assured  her. 

Again  she  knit  her  brows  and  reflected  for  a  few 
moments.  Then  in  a  low,  intense,  unnatural  voice  she 
said : 

"Listen,  Mr.  Henfrey.  I  feel  that,  after  all,  my  con- 
science would  be  relieved  if  I  revealed  to  you  the  truth. 
First — well,  it  is  no  use  denying  the  fact  that  your  father 
was  not  exactly  the  man  you  and  his  friends  believed  him 
to  be.  He  led  a  strange  dual  existence,  and  I  will  dis- 
close to  you  one  or  two  facts  concerning  his  untimely  end 
which  will  show  you  how  cleverly  devised  and  how  cun- 
ning was  the  plot — how " 

At  that  instant  Hugh  was  startled  by  a  bright  flash 
outside  the  half-open  window,  a  loud  report,  followed  by 
a  woman's  shrill  shriek  of  pain. 

Then,  next  moment,  ere  he  could  rush  forward  to 
save  her,  Mademoiselle,  with  the  truth  upon  her  lips 
unuttered,  staggered  and  fell  back  heavily  upon  the 
carpet ! 


THIRD  CHAPTER 

IN    THE    NIGHT 

Hugh  Henfrey,  startled  by  the  sudden  shot,  shouted 
for  assistance,  and  then  threw  himself  upon  his  knees 
beside  the  prostrate  woman. 

From  a  bullet  wound  over  the  right  ear  blood  was 
slowly  oozing  and  trickling  over  her  white  cheek. 

"Help!  Help!"  he  shouted  loudly.  "Mademoiselle 
has  been  shot  from  outside!     Help!" 

In  a  few  seconds  the  elderly  manservant  burst  into 
the  room  in  a  state  of  intense  excitement. 

"Quick!"  cried  Hugh.  "Telephone  for  a  doctor  at 
once.    I  fear  your  mistress  is  dying !" 

Henfrey  had  placed  his  hand  upon  Mademoiselle's 
heart,  but  could  detect  no  movement.  While  the  servant 
dashed  to  the  telephone,  he  listened  for  her  breathing, 
but  could  hear  nothing.  From  the  wall  he  tore  down 
a  small  circular  mirror  and  held  it  against  her  mouth. 
There  was  no  clouding. 

There  was  every  apparent  sign  that  the  small  blue 
wound  had  proved  fatal. 

"Inform  the  police  also !"  Hugh  shouted  to  the  elderly 
Italian  who  was  at  the  telephone  in  the  adjoining  room. 
"The  murderer  must  be  found !" 

By  this  time  four  female  servants  had  entered  the 
room  where  their  mistress  was  lying  huddled  and  motion- 
less. All  of  them  were  in  deshabille.  Then  all  became 
excitement  and  confusion.     Hugh  left  them  to  unloosen 

35 


36      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

her  clothing  and  hastened  out  upon  the  veranda  whereon 
the  assassin  must  have  stood  when  firing  the  shot. 

Outside  in  the  brilliant  Riviera  moonlight  the  scent 
of  a  wealth  of  flowers  greeted  his  nostrils.  It  was  al- 
most bright  as  day.  From  the  veranda  spread  a  wide, 
fairy-like  view  of  the  many  lights  of  Monte  Carlo  and 
La  Condamine,  with  the  sea  beyond  shimmering  in  the 
moonlight. 

The  veranda,  he  saw,  led  by  several  steps  down  into 
the  beautiful  garden,  while  beyond,  a  distance  of  a  hun- 
dred yards,  was  the  main  gate  leading  to  the  roadway. 
The  assassin,  after  taking  careful  aim  and  firing,  had,  no 
doubt,  slipped  along,  and  out  of  the  gate. 

But  why  had  Mademoiselle  been  shot  just  at  the 
moment  when  she  was  about  to  reveal  the  secret  of  his 
lamented  father's  death? 

He  descended  to  the  garden,  where  he  examined  the 
bushes  which  cast  their  dark  shadows.  But  all  was  silence. 
The  assassin  had  escaped ! 

Then  he  hurried  out  into  the  road,  but  again  all  was 
silence.  The  only  hope  of  discovering  the  identity  of 
the  criminal  was  by  means  of  the  police  vigilance.  Truth 
to  tell,  however,  the  police  of  Monte  Carlo  are  never 
over  anxious  to  arrest  a  criminal,  because  Monte  Carlo 
attracts  the  higher  criminal  class  of  both  sexes  from  all 
over  Europe.  If  the  police  of  the  Principality  were 
constantly  making  arrests  it  would  be  a  bad  advertise- 
ment for  the  Rooms.  Hence,  though  the  Monte  Carlo 
police  are  extremely  vigilant  and  an  expert  body  of 
officers,  they  prefer  to  watch  and  to  give  information  to 
the  bureaux  of  police  of  other  countries,  so  that  arrests 
invariably  take  place  beyond  the  frontiers  of  the  Prin- 
cipality of  Monaco. 

It  was  not  long  before  Doctor  Leneveu,  a  short,  stout, 


IN  THE  NIGHT  37 

bald-headed  little  man,  well  known  to  habitues  of  the 
Rooms,  among  whom  he  had  a  large  practice,  entered  the 
house  of  Mademoiselle  and  was  greeted  by  Hugh.  The 
latter  briefly  explained  the  tragic  circumstances,  where- 
upon the  little  doctor  at  once  became  fussy  and  excited. 

Having  ordered  everyone  out  of  the  room  except  Hen- 
frey,  he  bent  and  made  an  examination  of  the  pros- 
trate woman. 

"Ah !  m'sieur,"  he  said,  "the  unfortunate  lady  has  cer- 
tainly been  shot  at  close  quarters.  The  wound  is,  I  tell 
you  at  once,  extremely  dangerous,"  he  added,  after  a 
searching  investigation.  "But  she  is  still  alive,"  he  de- 
clared.    "Yes — she  is  still  breathing." 

"Still  alive !"  gasped  Henf rey.  "That's  excellent !  I— 
I  feared  that  she  was  dead !" 

"No.  She  still  breathes,"  the  doctor  replied.  "But, 
tell  me  exactly  what  has  occurred.  First,  however,  we 
will  get  them  to  remove  her  upstairs.  I  will  telephone 
to  my  colleague  Duponteil,  and  we  will  endeavour  to  ex- 
tract the  bullet." 

"But  will  she  recover,  doctor?"  asked  Hugh  eagerly  in 
French.    "What  do  you  think?" 

The  little  man  became  serious  and  shook  his  head 
gravely. 

"Ah!  m'sieur,  that  I  cannot  say,"  was  his  reply.  "She 
is  in  a  very  grave  state — very !  And  the  brain  may  be 
affected." 

Hugh  held  his  breath.  Surely  Yvonne  Fcrad  was  not 
to  die  zvith  the  secret  upon  her  lips! 

At  the  doctor's  orders  the  servants  were  about  to 
remove  their  mistress  to  her  room  when  two  well- 
dressed  men  of  official  aspect  entered.  They  were  offi- 
cers of  the  Bureau  of  Police. 

"Stop !"  cried  the  elder,  who  was  the  one  in  authority, 


38      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

a  tall,  lantern- jawed  man  with  a  dark  brown  beard  and 
yellow  teeth.  "Do  not  touch  that  lady!  What  has 
happened  here?" 

Hugh  came  forward,  and  in  his  best  French  explained 
the  circumstances  of  the  tragedy — how  Mademoiselle 
had  been  shot  in  his  presence  by  an  unknown  hand. 

"The  assassin,  whoever  he  was,  stood  out  yonder — 
upon  the  veranda — but  I  never  saw  him,"  he  added.  "It 
wras  all  over  in  a  second — and  he  has  escaped !" 

"And  pray  who  are  you?"  demanded  the  police  officer 
bluntly.    "Please  explain." 

Hugh  was  rather  nonplussed.  The  question  required 
explanation,  no  doubt.  It  would,  he  saw,  appear  very 
curious  that  he  should  visit  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo 
at  that  late  hour. 

"I — well,  I  called  upon  Mademoiselle  because  I  wished 
to  obtain  some  important  information  from  her." 

"What  information?     Rather  late  for  a  call,  surely?" 

The  young  Englishman  hesitated.  Then,  with  true 
British  grit,  he  assumed  an  attitude  of  boldness,  and 
asked : 

"Am  I  compelled  to  answer  that  question?" 

"I  am  Charles  Ogier,  chief  inspector  of  the  Surete  of 
Monaco,  and  I  press  for  a  reply,"  answered  the  other 
firmly. 

"And  I,  Hugh  Henfrey,  a  British  subject,  at  present 
decline  to  satisfy  you,"  was  the  young  man's  bold  re- 
sponse. 

"Is  the  lady  still  alive?"  inquired  the  inspector  of 
Doctor  Leneveu. 

"Yes.  I  have  ordered  her  to  be  taken  up  to  her 
room — of  course,  when  m'sieur  the  inspector  gives  per- 
mission." 

Ogier    looked    at   the   deathly   countenance    with    the 


IN  THE  NIGHT  39 

closed  eyes,  and  noted  that  the  wound  in  the  skull  had 
been  bound  up  with  a  cotton  handkerchief  belonging  to 
one  of  the  maids.  Mademoiselle's  dark  well-dressed 
hair  had  become  unbound  and  was  straying  across  her 
face,  while  her  handsome  gown  had  been  torn  in  the 
attempt  to  unloosen  her  corsets. 

"Yes,"  said  the  police  officer;  "they  had  better  take 
her  upstairs.  We  will  remain  here  and  make  inquiries. 
This  is  a  very  queer  affair — to  say  the  least,"  he  added, 
glancing  suspiciously  at  Henfrey. 

While  the  servants  carried  their  unconscious  mistress 
tenderly  upstairs,  the  fussy  little  doctor  went  to  the  tele- 
phone to  call  Doctor  Duponteil,  the  principal  surgeon  of 
Monaco.  He  had  hesitated  whether  to  take  the  victim 
to  the  hospital,  but  had  decided  that  the  operation  could 
be  done  just  as  effectively  upstairs.  So,  after  speaking 
to  Duponteil,  he  also  spoke  to  the  sister  at  the  hospital, 
asking  her  to  send  up  two  nurses  immediately  to  the  Villa 
Amette. 

In  the  meantime  Inspector  Ogier  was  closely  question- 
ing the  young  Englishman. 

Like  everyone  in  Monte  Carlo  he  knew  the  mysterious 
Mademoiselle  by  sight.  More  than  once  the  suspicions 
of  the  police  had  been  aroused  against  her.  Indeed,  in 
the  archives  of  the  Prefecture  there  reposed  a  bulky 
dossier  containing  reports  of  her  doings  and  those  of  her 
friends.  Yet  there  had  never  been  anything  which  would 
warrant  the  authorities  to  forbid  her  from  remaining  in 
the  Principality. 

This  tragedy,  therefore,  greatly  interested  Ogier  and 
his  colleague.  Both  of  them  had  spent  many  years  in  the 
service  of  the  Paris  Surete  under  the  great  Goron  before 
being  appointed  to  the  responsible  positions  in  the  de- 
tective service  of  Monaco. 


40      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Then  you  knew  the  lady?"  Ogier  asked  of  the  young 
man  who  was  naturally  much  upset  over  the  startling 
affair,  and  the  more  so  because  the  secret  of  his  father's 
mysterious  death  had  been  filched  from  him  by  the  hand 
of  some  unknown  assassin. 

"No,  I  did  not  know  her  personally,"  Henfrey  replied 
somewhat  lamely.  "I  came  to  call  upon  her,  and  she 
received  me." 

"Why  did  you  call  at  this  hour  ?  Could  you  not  have 
called  in  the  daytime?" 

"Mademoiselle  was  in  the  Rooms  until  late,"  he  said. 

"Ah!     Then  you  followed  her  home— eh?" 

"Yes,"  he  admitted. 

The  police  officer  pursed  his  lips  and  raised  his  eyes 
significantly  at  his  colleague. 

"And  what  was  actually  happening  when  the  shot  was 
fired?     Describe  it  to  me,  please,"  he  demanded. 

"I  was  standing  just  here" — and  he  crossed  the  room 
and  stood  upon  the  spot  where  he  had  been — "Made- 
moiselle was  over  there  beside  the  window.  I  had  my 
back  to  the  window.  She  was  about  to  tell  me  some- 
thing— to  answer  a  question  I  had  put  to  her — when 
someone  from  outside  shot  her  through  the  open  glass 
door." 

"And  you  did  not  see  her  assailant?" 

"I  saw  nothing.  The  shot  startled  me,  and,  seeing 
her  staggering,  I  rushed  to  her.  In  the  meantime  the 
assailant — whoever  he  was — disappeared  !" 

The  brown-bearded  man  smiled  dubiously.  As  he 
stood  beneath  the  electric  light  Hugh  saw  doubt  written 
largely  upon  his  countenance.  He  instantly  realized  that 
Ogier  disbelieved  his  story. 

After  all  it  was  a  very  lame  one.  He  would  not  fully 
admit  the  reason  of  his  visit. 


IN  THE  NIGHT  41 

"But  tell  me,  m'sieur,"  exclaimed  the  police  officer. 
"It  seems  extraordinary  that  any  person  should  creep 
along  this  veranda."  And  he  walked  out  and  looked 
about  in  the  moonlight.  "If  the  culprit  wished  to  shoot 
Mademoiselle  in  secret,  then  he  would  surely  not  have 
done  so  in  your  presence.  He  might  easily  have  shot  her 
as  she  was  on  her  way  home.  The  road  is  lonely  up 
here." 

"I  agree,  monsieur,"  replied  the  Englishman.  "The 
whole  affair  is,  to  me,  a  complete  mystery.  I  saw  nobody. 
But  it  was  plain  to  me  that  when  I  called  Mademoiselle 
was  seated  out  upon  the  veranda.  Look  at  her  chair — 
and  the  cushions !  It  was  very  hot  and  close  in  the 
Rooms  to-night,  and  probably  she  was  enjoying  the 
moonlight  before  retiring  to  bed." 

"Quite  possibly,"  he  agreed.  "But  that  does  not  alter 
the  fact  that  the  assassin  ran  considerable  risk  in  com- 
ing along  the  veranda  in  the  full  moonlight  and  firing 
through  the  open  door.  Are  you  quite  certain  that  Made- 
moiselle's assailant  was  outside — find  not  inside?" 
he  asked,  with  a  queer  expression  upon  his  aquiline 
face. 

Hugh  saw  that  he  was  hinting  at  his  suspicion  that  he 
himself  had  shot  her! 

"Quite  certain,"  he  assured  him.    "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  have  my  own  reasons,"  replied  the  police  officer 
with  a  hard  laugh.  "Now,  tell  me  what  do  you  know 
about  Mademoiselle  Ferad?" 

"Practically  nothing." 

"Then  why  did  you  call  upon  her?" 

"I  have  told  you.  I  desired  some  information,  and 
she  was  about  to  give  it  to  me  when  the  weapon  was  fired 
by  an  unknown  hand." 

"Unknown— eh?" 


42      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Yes.  Unknown  to  me.  It  might  be  known  to  Made- 
moiselle." 

"And  what  was  this  information  you  so  urgently 
desired?" 

"Some  inportant  information.  I  travelled  from  Lon- 
don to  Monte  Carlo  in  order  to  obtain  it." 

"Ah !  Then  you  had  a  motive  in  coming  here — some 
strong  motive,  I  take  it?" 

"Yes.  A  very  strong  motive.  I  wanted  her  to  clear 
up  certain  mysterious  happenings  in  England." 

Ogier  was  instantly  alert. 

"What  happenings?"  he  asked,  for  he  recollected  the 
big  dossier  and  the  suspicions  extending  over  four  or 
five  years  concerning  the  real  identity  and  mode  of  life 
of  the  handsome,  sphinx-like  woman  Yvonne  Ferad. 

Hugh  Henfrey  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
he  said : 

"Happenings  in  London  that — well,  that  I  do  not  wish 
to  recall." 

Ogier  again  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"I  suggest,  M'sieur  Henfrey" — for  Hugh  had  given 
him  his  name — "I  suggest  that  you  have  been  attracted 
by  Mademoiselle  as  so  many  other  men  have  been.  She 
seems  to  exercise  a  fatal  influence  upon  some  people." 

"I  know,"  Hugh  said.  "I  have  heard  lots  of  things 
about  her.  Her  success  at  the  tables  is  constant  and 
uncanny.  Even  the  Administration  are  interested  in  her 
winnings,  and  are  often  filled  with  wonder." 

"True,  m'sieur.  She  keeps  herself  apart.  She  is  a 
mysterious  person — the  most  remarkable  in  all  the  Prin- 
cipality. We,  at  the  Bureau,  have  heard  all  sorts  of 
curious  stories  concerning  her — once  it  was  rumoured 
that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  reigning  European  sov- 
ereign.    But  we  take  all  the  reports  with  the  proverbial 


IN  THE  NIGHT  43 

grain  of  salt.  That  Mademoiselle  is  a  woman  of  out- 
standing intellect  and  courage,  as  well  of  great  beauty, 
cannot  be  denied.  Therefore  I  tell  you  that  I  am  in- 
tensely interested  in  this  attempt  upon  her  life." 

"And  so  am  I,"  Hugh  said.  "I  have  a  strong  reason 
to  be." 

"Cannot  you  tell  me  that  reason?"  inquired  the  officer 
of  the  Surete,  still  looking  at  him  very  shrewdly.  "Why 
fence  with  me?" 

Henf  rey  hesitated.     Then  he  replied : 

"It  is  a  purely  personal  matter." 

"And  yet,  you  have  said  that  you  were  not  acquainted 
with  Mademoiselle!"  remarked  Ogier  suspiciously. 

"That  is  quite  true.  The  first  time  I  have  spoken  to 
her  was  this  evening,  a  few  minutes  before  the  attempt 
was  made  upon  her  life." 

"Then  your  theory  is  that  while  you  stood  in  conversa- 
tion with  her  somebody  crept  along  the  veranda  and  shot 
her— eh  ?" 

"Yes." 

Ogier  smiled  sarcastically,  and  turning  to  his  colleague, 
ordered  him  to  search  the  room.  The  inspector  evidently 
suspected  the  young  Englishman  of  having  shot  Made- 
moiselle, and  the  search  was  in  order  to  try  and  discover 
the  weapon. 

Meanwhile  the  brown-bearded  officer  called  the  Italian 
manservant,  who  gave  his  name  as  Giulio  Cataldi,  and 
who  stated  that  he  had  been  in  Mademoiselle  Ferad's 
service  a  little  over  five  years. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  this  Englishman  before?"  Ogier 
asked,   indicating  Hugh. 

"Nevrr,  until  to-night,  m'sieur,"  was  the  reply.  "He 
called  about  twenty  minutes  after  Mademoiselle's  return 
from  the  Rooms." 


44      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Has  Mademoiselle  quarrelled  with  anybody  of  late?" 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,  m'sieur.  She  is  of  a  very  quiet 
and  even  disposition." 

"Is  there  anyone  you  know  who  might  possess  a 
motive  to  shoot  her?"  asked  Ogier.  "The  crime  has 
not  been  committed  with  a  motive  of  robbery,  but  either 
out  of  jealousy  or  revenge." 

"I  know  of  nobody,"  declared  the  highly  respectable 
Italian,  whose  moustache  was  tinged  with  grey.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  showed  his  palms  as  he 
spoke. 

"Mademoiselle  arrived  here  two  months  ago,  I  be- 
lieve?" queried  the  police  official. 

"Yes,  m'sieur.  She  spent  the  autumn  in  Paris,  and 
during  the  summer  she  was  at  Deauville.  She  also  went 
to  London  for  a  brief  time,  I  believe." 

"Did  she  ever  live  in  London?"  asked  Hugh  eagerly, 
interrupting  Ogier's  interrogation. 

"Yes — once.  She  had  a  furnished  house  on  the  Crom- 
well Road  for  about  six  months." 

"How  long  ago?"  asked  Henfrey. 

"  Please  allow  me  to  make  my  inquiries,  monsieur !" 
exclaimed  the  detective  angrily. 

"But  the  question  I  ask  is  of  greatest  importance  to  me 
in  my  own  inquiries,"  Hugh  persisted. 

"I  am  here  to  discover  the  identity  of  Mademoiselle's 
assailant,"  Ogier  asserted.  "And  I  will  not  brook  your 
interference." 

"Mademoiselle  has  been  shot,  and  it  is  for  you  to 
discover  who  fired  at  her,"  snapped  the  young  English- 
man. "I  consider  that  I  have  just  as  much  right  to  put 
a  question  to  this  man  as  you  have,  that  is" — he  added 
with  sarcasm — "that  is,  of  course,  if  you  don't  suspect 
him  of  shooting  his  mistress." 


IN  THE  NIGHT  45 

"Well,  I  certainly  do  not  suspect  that,"  the  Frenchman 
said.  "But,  to  tell  you  candidly,  your  story  of  the  affair 
strikes  me  as  a  very  improbable  one." 

"Ah !"  laughed  Hugh,  "1  thought  so !  You  suspect 
me — eh?     Very  well.     Where  is  the  weapon?" 

"Perhaps  you  have  hidden  it,"  suggested  the  other 
meaningly.    "We  shall,  no  doubt,  find  it  somewhere." 

"I  hope  you  will,  and  that  will  lead  to  the  arrest  of 
the  guilty  person,"  Hugh  laughed.  Then  he  was  about 
to  put  further  questions  to  the  man  Cataldi  when  Doctor 
Leneveu  entered  the  room. 

"How  is  she?"  demanded  Hugh  breathlessly. 

The  countenance  of  the  fussy  little  doctor  fell. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said  in  a  low  earnest  voice,  "I  much 
fear  that  Mademoiselle  will  not  recover.  My  colleague 
Duponteil  concurs  with  that  view.  We  have  done  our 
best,  but  neither  of  us  entertain  any  hope  that  she  will 
live !"  Then,  turning  to  Ogier,  the  doctor  exclaimed : 
"This  is  an  amazing  affair — especially  in  face  of  what  is 
whispered  concerning  the  unfortunate  lady.  What  do 
you  make  of  it?" 

The  officer  of  the  Surete  knit  his  brows,  and  with 
frankness  replied : 

"At  present  I  am  entirely  mystified — entirely  mys- 
tified!" 


FOURTH  CHAPTER 

WHAT   THE   DOSSIER    CONTAINED 

Walter  Brock  was  awakened  at  four  o'clock  that 
morning  by  Hugh  touching  him  upon  the  shoulder. 

He  started  up  in  bed,  and  staring  at  his  friend's  pale, 
haggard  face  exclaimed: 

"Good  heavens ! — why,  what's  the  matter  ?" 

"Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo  has  been  shot!"  the 
other  replied  in  a  hard  voice. 

"Shot!"  gasped  Brock,  startled.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

Briefly  Hugh  who  had  only  just  entered  the  hotel, 
explained  the  curious  circumstances — how,  just  at  the 
moment  she  had  been  about  to  reveal  the  secret  of  his 
father's  death  she  was   shot. 

"Most  extraordinary!"  declared  his  friend.  "Surely, 
we  have  not  been  followed  here  by  someone  who  is  de- 
termined to  prevent  you  from  knowing  the  truth !" 

"It  seems  much  like  it,  Walter,"  replied  the  younger 
man  very  seriously.  "There  must  be  some  strong  motive 
or  no  person  would  dare  to  shoot  her  right  before  my 
eyes." 

"Agreed.  Somebody  who  is  concerned  in  your  father's 
death  has  adopted  this  desperate  measure  in  order  to 
prevent  Mademoiselle  from  telling  you  the  truth." 

"That's  exactly  my  opinion,  my  dear  Walter.  If  it 
was  a  crime  for  gain,  or  through  motives  of  either 
jealousy  or  revenge,  Mademoiselle  would  certainly  have 

46 


WHAT  THE  DOSSIER  CONTAINED         47 

been  attacked  on  her  way  home.  The  road  is  quite 
deserted  towards  the  crest  of  the  hill." 

"What  do  the  police  say?" 

"They  do  not  appear  to  trouble  to  track  Mademoiselle's 
assailant.  They  say  they  will  wait  until  daylight  before 
searching  for  footprints  on  the  gravel  outside." 

"Ah !  They  are  not  very  fond  of  making  arrests 
within  the  Principality.  It's  such  a  bad  advertisement 
for  the  Rooms.  The  Administration  like  to  show  a  clean 
sheet  as  regards  serious  crime.  Our  friends  here  leave 
it  to  the  French  or  Italian  police  to  deal  with  the  crimi- 
nals so  that  the  Principality  shall  prove  itself  the  most 
honest  State  in  Europe,"  Brock  said. 

"The  police,  I  believe,  suspect  me  of  shooting  her," 
said  Hugh  bluntly. 

"That's  very  awkward.    Why?" 

"Well — they  don't  know  the  true  reason  I  went  to  see 
her,  or  they  would  never  believe  me  to  be  guilty  of  a 
crime  so  much  against  my  own  interests." 

Brock,  who  was  still  sitting  up  in  bed  in  his  pale  blue 
silk  pyjamas,  reflected  a  few  moments. 

"Well,  Hugh,"  he  said  at  last,  "after  all  it  is  only 
natural  that  they  should  believe  that  you  had  a  hand  in 
the  matter.  Even  though  she  told  you  the  truth,  it  is 
quite  within  reason  that  you  should  have  suddenly  be- 
come incensed  against  her  for  the  part  she  must  have 
played  in  your  father's  mysterious  death,  and  in  a  frenzy 
of  anger  you  shot  her." 

Hugh  drew  a  long  breath,  and  his  eyebrows  nar- 
rowed. 

"By  Jove !  I  had  never  regarded  it  in  that  light  be- 
fore!" he  gasped.     "But  what  about  the  weapon?" 

"You  might  easily  have  hidden  it  before  the  arrival 
of   the  police.     You  admit  that  you  went  out  on  the 


48      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

veranda.  Therefore  if  they  do  chance  to  find  the  weapon 
in  the  garden  then  their  suspicions  will,  no  doubt,  be 
considerably  increased.  It's  a  pity,  old  man,  that  you 
didn't  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  motive  of  your  visit." 

"I  now  see  my  horrible  mistake,"  Henfrey  admitted. 
"I  thought  myself  wise  to  preserve  silence,  to  know 
nothing,  and  now  I  see  quite  plainly  that  I  have  only 
brought  suspicion  unduly  upon  myself.  The  police,  how- 
ever, know  Yvonne  Ferad  to  be  a  somewhat  mysterious 
person." 

"Which  renders  the  situation  only  worse,"  Brock 
said.  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added :  "Now  that  you 
have  declined  to  tell  the  police  why  you  visited  the  Villa 
Amette  and  have,  in  a  way,  defied  them,  it  will  be  best 
to  maintain  that  attitude.  Tell  them  nothing,  no  matter 
what  happens." 

"I  intend  to  pursue  that  course.  But  the  worst  of  it  is, 
Walter,  that  the  doctors  hold  out  no  hope  of  Made- 
moiselle's recovery.  I  saw  Duponteil  half  an  hour  ago, 
and  he  told  me  that  he  could  give  me  no  encouraging 
information.  The  bullet  has  been  extracted,  but  she  is 
hovering  between  life  and  death.  I  suppose  it  will  be 
in  the  papers  to-morrow,  and  Dorise  and  her  mother 
will  know  of  my  nocturnal  visit  to  the  house  of  a  notori- 


ous woman." 


"Don't  let  that  worry  you,  my  dear  chap.  Here,  they 
keep  the  news  of  all  tragedies  out  of  the  papers,  because 
shooting  affairs  may  be  thought  by  the  public  to  be  due 
to  losses  at  the  Rooms.  Recollect  that  of  all  the  suicides 
here — the  dozens  upon  dozens  of  poor  ruined  gamesters 
who  are  yearly  laid  to  rest  in  the  Suicides'  Cemetery — 
not  a  single  report  has  appeared  in  any  newspaper.  So  I 
think  you  may  remain  assured  that  Lady  Ranscomb  and 
her  daughter  will  not  learn  anything." 


WHAT  THE  DOSSIER  CONTAINED         49 

"I  sincerely  hope  they  won't,  otherwise  it  will  go  very 
hard  with  me,"  Hugh  said  in  a  low,  intense  voice.  "Ah! 
What  a  night  it  has  been  for  me !" 

"And  if  Mademoiselle  dies  the  assailant,  whoever  he 
was,  will  be  guilty  of  wilful  murder;  while  you,  on  your 
part,  will  never  know  the  truth  concerning  your  father's 
death,"  remarked  the  elder  man,  running  his  fingers 
through  his  hair. 

"Yes.  That  is  the  position  at  this  moment.  But 
further,  I  am  suspected  of  the  crime!" 

Brock  dressed  while  his  friend  sat  upon  the  edge  of  the 
bed,  pale-faced  and  agitated.  Suppose  that  the  assailant 
had  flung  his  pistol  into  the  bushes,  and  the  police  eventu- 
ally discovered  it?  Then,  no  doubt,  he  would  be  put 
across  the  frontier  to  be  arrested  by  the  police  of  the 
Department  of  the  Alpes  Maritimes. 

Truly,  the  situation  was  most  serious. 

Together  the  two  men  strolled  out  into  the  early  morn- 
ing air  and  sat  upon  a  seat  on  the  terrace  of  the  Casino 
watching  the  sun  as  it  rose  over  the  tideless  sea. 

For  nearly  an  hour  they  sat  discussing  the  affair ;  then 
they  ascended  the  white,  dusty  road  to  the  beautiful 
Villa  Amette,  the  home  of  the  mysterious  Mademois- 
elle. 

Old  Giulio  Cataldi  opened  the  door. 

"Alas!  m'sieur,  Mademoiselle  is  just  the  same,"  he 
replied  in  response  to  Hugh's  eager  inquiry.  "The  police 
have  gone,  but  Doctor  Leneveu  is  still  upstairs." 

"Have  the  police  searched  the  garden  ?"  inquired  Hugh 
eagerly. 

"Yes,  m'sieur.  They  made  a  thorough  examination, 
but  have  discovered  no  marks  of  footprints  except  those 
of  yourself,  myself,  and  a  tradesman's  lad  who  brought 
up  a  parcel  late  last  night." 


50      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Then  they  found  no  weapon?"  asked  the  young  Eng- 
lishman. 

"No,  m'sieur.  There  is  no  clue  whatever  to  the  as- 
sailant." 

"Curious  that  there  should  be  no  footmarks,"  remarked 
Brock.     "Yet  they  found  yours,  Hugh." 

"Yes.  The  man  must  surely  have  left  some  trace  out- 
side !" 

"One  would  certainly  have  thought  so,"  Brock  said. 
"I  wonder  if  we  may  go  into  the  room  where  the  tragedy 
happened?"  he  asked  of  the  servant. 

"Certainly,  m'sieur,"  was  the  courteous  reply,  and  he 
conducted  them  both  into  the  apartment  wherein  Made- 
moiselle of  Monte  Carlo  had  been  shot  down. 

"Did  you  accompany  Mademoiselle  when  she  went  to 
London,  Giulio  ?"  asked  young  Henf  rey  of  the  old  Italian, 
after  he  had  described  to  Brock  exactly  what  had  oc- 
curred. 

"Yes,  m'sieur,"  he  replied.  "I  was  at  Cromwell  Road 
for  a  short  time.  But  I  do  not  care  for  London,  so 
Mademoiselle  sent  me  back  here  to  look  after  the  Villa 
because  old  Jean,  the  concierge,  had  been  taken  to  the 
hospital." 

"When  in  London  you  knew  some  of  Mademoiselle's 
friends,  I  suppose?" 

"A  few — only  a  few,"  was  the  Italian's  reply. 

"Did  you  ever  know  a  certain  Mr.  Benton?" 

The  old  fellow  shook  his  head  blankly. 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,  m'sieur,"  he  replied.  "Made- 
moiselle had  really  very  few  friends  in  London.  There 
was  a  Mrs.  Matthews  and  her  husband,  Americans  whom 
she  met  here  in  Monte  Carlo,  and  Sir  George  Cave- 
Knight,  who  died  a  few  weeks  ago." 


WHAT  THE  DOSSIER  CONTAINED         51 

"Do  you  remember  an  elderly  gentleman  named  Hen- 
frey  calling?"  asked  Hugh. 

Old  Cataldi  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then  an- 
swered : 

"The  name  sounds  familiar  to  me,  m'sieur,  but  in  what 
connexion  I  cannot  recollect.  That  is  your  name,  is  it 
not?"  he  asked,  remembering  the  card  he  had  taken  to 

his  mistress. 

"Yes,"  Hugh  replied.  "I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
my  late  father  was  acquainted  with  your  mistress,  and 
that  he  called  upon  her  in  London." 

"I  believe  that  a  gentleman  named  Henfrey  did  call, 
because  when  I  glanced  at  the  card  you  gave  me  last 
night  the  name  struck  me  as  familiar,"  the  servant  said. 
"But  whether  he  actually  called,  or  whether  someone  at 
table  mentioned  his  name  I  really  cannot  recollect." 

"Ah!  That's  a  pity,"  exclaimed  Hugh  with  a  sigh. 
"As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  in  order  to  make  certain  in- 
quiries regarding  my  late  father  that  I  called  upon 
Mademoiselle  last  night." 

Giulio  Cataldi  turned  in  pretence  of  rearranging  a 
chair,  but  in  reality  to  avert  his  face  from  the  young 
man's  gaze — a  fact  which  Hugh  did  not  fail  to  notice. 

Had  he  really  told  the  truth  when  he  declared  that  he 
could  not  recollect  his  father  calling? 

"How  long  were  you  in  London  with  Mademoiselle?" 
asked  Henfrey. 

"About  six  weeks — not  longer." 

Was  it  because  of  some  untoward  occurrence  that  the 
old  Italian  did  not  like  London,  Hugh  wondered. 

"And  you  are  quite  certain  that  you  do  not  recollect 
my  father  calling  upon  your  mistress?" 

"As  I  have  said,  m'sieur,  I  do  not  remember.     Yet 


52      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

I    recall   the    name,   as    it    is   a    rather   unusual    one." 

"And  you  have  never  heard  of  Mr.  Benton  ?" 

Cataldi  shook  his  head. 

"Well,"  Hugh  went  on,  "tell  me  whether  you  enter- 
tain any  suspicions  of  anyone  who  might  be  tempted  to 
kill  your  mistress.  Mademoiselle  has  enemies,  has  she 
not?" 

"Who  knows?"  exclaimed  the  man  with  the  grey 
moustache  and  small,  black  furtive  eyes. 

"Everyone  has  enemies  of  one  sort  or  another,"  Walter 
remarked.  "And  no  doubt  Mademoiselle  has.  It  is  for 
us  to  discover  the  enemy  who  shot  her." 

"Ah !  yes,  it  is,  m'sieur,"  exclaimed  the  servant.  "The 
poor  Signorina !  I  do  hope  that  the  police  will  discover 
who  tried  to  kill  her." 

"For  aught  we  know  the  attempt  upon  the  lady's  life 
may  prove  successful  after  all,"  said  Hugh  despairingly. 
"The  doctors  hold  out  no  hope  of  her  recovery." 

"None.  A  third  doctor  has  been  in  consultation — 
Doctor  Bazin,  from  Beaulieu.  He  only  left  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  ago.  He  told  me  that  the  poor  Signorina 
cannot  possibly  live !  Ah !  messieurs,  how  terrible  all 
this  is — povera  Signorina!  She  was  always  so  kind  and 
considerate  to  us  all."  And  the  old  man's  voice  trembled 
with  emotion. 

Walter  Brock  gazed  around  the  luxurious  room  and 
at  the  long  open  window  through  which  streamed  the 
bright  morning  sun.  with  the  perfume  of  the  flowers 
outside.  What  was  the  mystery  concerning  Made- 
moiselle Yvonne?  What  foundation  had  the  gossips 
for  those  constant  whisperings  which  had  rendered  the 
handsome  woman  so  notorious? 

True,  the  story  of  the  death  of  Hugh's  father  was  an 
unusually  strange  one,  curious  in  every  particular — and 


WHAT  THE  DOSSIER  CONTAINED         53 

stranger  still  that  the  secret  was  held  by  this  beautiful, 
but  mysterious,  woman  who  lived  in  such  luxury,  and 
who  gambled  so  recklessly  and  with  invariable  good 
fortune. 

As  they  walked  back  to  the  town  Hugh's  heart  sank 
within  him. 

"She  will  die,"  he  muttered  bitterly  to  himself. 
"She'll  die,  and  I  shall  never  learn  the  truth  of  the  poor 
guv'nor's  sad  end,  or  the  reason  why  I  am  being  forced 
to  marry  Louise  Lambert." 

"It's  an  iniquitous  will,  Hugh!"  declared  his  friend. 
"And  it's  infernally  hard  on  you  that  just  at  the  very 
moment  when  you  could  have  learnt  the  truth  that  shot 
was  fired." 

"Do  you  think  the  woman  had  any  hand  in  my  father's 
death?"  Hugh  asked.  "Do  you  think  that  she  had  re- 
pented, and  was  about  to  try  and  atone  for  what  she 
had  done  by  confessing  the  whole  affair?" 

"Yes.  That  is  just  the  view  I  take,"  answered  Brock. 
"Of  course,  we  have  no  idea  what  part  she  played  in  the 
business.  But  my  idea  is  that  she  alone  knows  the  rea- 
son why  this  marriage  with  Louise  is  being  forced  upon 
you." 

"In  that  case,  then,  it  seems  more  than  likely  that  I've 
been  followed  here  to  Monte  Carlo,  and  my  movements 
watched.  But  why  has  she  been  shot?  Why  did  not 
her  enemies  shoot  me  ?  They  could  have  done  so  twenty 
times  during  the  past  few  days.  Perhaps  the  shot  which 
hit  her  was  really  intended  for  me?" 

"I  don't  think  so.  There  is  a  monetary  motive  be- 
hind your  marriage  with  Louise.  If  you  died,  your 
enemy  would  gain  nothing.    That  seems  clear." 

"But  who  can  be  my  secret  enemy?"  asked  the  young 
man  in  dismay. 


54      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Mademoiselle  alone  knows  that,  and  it  was  undoubt- 
edly her  intention  to  warn  you." 

"Yes.  But  if  she  dies  I  shall  remain  in  ignorance," 
he  declared  in  a  hard  voice.  "The  whole  affair  is  so 
tangled  that  I  can  see  nothing  clearly — only  that  my 
refusal  to  marry  Louise  will  mean  ruin  to  me — and  I 
shall  lose  Dorise  into  the  bargain !" 

Walter  Brock,  older  and  more  experienced,  was  equally 
mystified.  The  pessimistic  attitude  of  the  three  doctors 
who  had  attended  the  injured  woman  was,  indeed,  far 
from  reassuring.  The  injury  to  the  head  caused  by  the 
assailant's  bullet  was,  they  declared,  most  dangerous. 
Indeed,  the  three  medical  men  marvelled  that  she  still 
lived. 

The  two  men  walked  through  the  palm-lined  garden, 
bright  with  flowers,  back  to  their  hotel,  wondering 
whether  news  of  the  tragedy  had  yet  got  abroad.  But 
they  heard  nothing  of  it,  and  it  seemed  true,  as  Walter 
Brock  had  declared,  that  the  police  make  haste  to  sup- 
press any  tragic  happenings  in  the  Principality. 

Though  they  were  unconscious  of  it,  a  middle-aged, 
well-dressed  Frenchman  had,  during  their  absence  from 
the  hotel,  been  making  diligent  inquiries  regarding  them 
of  the  night  concierge  and  some  of  the  staff. 

The  concierge  had  recognized  the  visitor  as  Armand 
Buisson,  of  the  police  bureau  at  Nice.  It  seemed  as 
though  the  French  police  were  unduly  inquisitive  con- 
cerning the  well-conducted  young  Englishman  and  his 
companion. 

Now,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  half  an  hour  after  Hugh 
had  left  the  Villa  Amette,  Ogier  had  telegraphed  to 
Buisson  in  Nice,  and  the  latter  had  come  along  the 
Corniche  road  in  a  fast  car  to  make  his  own  inquiries 
and  observations  upon  the  pair  of  Englishmen.     Ogier 


WHAT  THE  DOSSIER  CONTAINED        55 

strongly  suspected  Henfrey  of  firing  the  shot,  but  was, 
nevertheless,  determined  to  remain  inactive  and  leave  the 
matter  to  the  Prefecture  of  the  Department  of  Alpes 
Maritimes.  Hence  the  reason  that  the  well-dressed 
Frenchman  lounged  in  the  hall  of  the  hotel  pretending  to 
read  the  "Phare  du  Littoral." 

Just  before  noon  Hugh  went  to  the  telephone  in  the 
hotel  and  inquired  of  Cataldi  the  progress  of  his  mistress. 

"She  is  just  the  same,  m'sieur,"  came  the  voice  in 
broken  English.  "Santa  Madonna!  How  terrible  it  all 
is !  Doctor  Leneveu  has  left,  and  Doctor  Duponteil  is 
now  here." 

"Have  the  police  been  again?" 

"No,  m'sieur.     Nobody  has  been,"  was  the  reply. 

So  Hugh  rang  off  and  crossed  the  hall,  little  dreaming 
that  the  well-dressed  Frenchman  had  been  highly  inter- 
ested in  his  questions. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  went  along  to  the  Metropole, 
where  he  had  an  engagement  to  lunch  with  Dorise  and 
her  mother. 

When  they  met,  however,  Lady  Ranscomb  ex- 
claimed : 

"Why,  Hugh,  you  look  very  pale.  What's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  he  laughed  forcedly.  "I'm  not  very 
bright  to-day.  I  think  it  was  the  sirocco  of  yesterday 
that  has  upset  me  a  little,  that's  all." 

Then,  while  they  were  seated  at  table,  Dorise  sud- 
denly exclaimed : 

"Oh !  do  you  know,  mother,  that  young  French  lady 
over  yonder,  Madame  Jacomet,  has  just  told  me  some- 
thing. There's  a  whisper  that  the  mysterious  woman, 
Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo,  was  shot  during  the  night 
by  a  discarded  lover!" 


56      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Shot !"  exclaimed  Lady  Ranscomb.  "Dear  me ! 
How  very  dreadful.     What  really  happened?" 

"I  don't  know.  Madame  Jacomet  was  told  by  her 
husband,  who  heard  it  in  Giro's  this  morning." 

"How  terrible !"  remarked  Hugh,  striving  to  remain 
calm. 

"Yes.  But  women  of  her  class  invariably  come  to  a 
bad  end,"  remarked  the  widow.  "How  pleased  I  am, 
Dorise,  that  you  never  spoke  to  her.  She's  a  most 
dreadful  person,  they  say." 

"Well,  she  evidently  knows  how  to  win  money  at 
the  tables,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  lifting  her  clear  blue 
eyes  to  those  of  her  lover. 

"Yes.  But  I  wonder  what  the  scandal  is  all  about?" 
said  the  widow  of  the  great  engineer. 

"Oh !  don't  trouble  to  inquire,  Lady  Ranscomb,"  Hugh 
hastened  to  remark.  "One  hears  scandal  on  every  hand 
in  Monte  Carlo." 

"Yes.  I  suppose  so,"  replied  the  elder  woman,  and 
then  the  subject  was  dropped. 

So  the  ugly  affair  was  being  rumoured.  It  caused 
Hugh  a  good  deal  of  apprehension,  for  he  feared  that 
his  name  would  be  associated  with  that  of  the  mysterious 
Mademoiselle.  Evidently  one  or  other  of  the  servants 
at  the  Villa  Amette  had  been  indiscreet. 

At  that  moment,  in  his  private  room  at  the  bureau 
of  police  down  in  Monaco,  Superintendent  Ogier  was 
carefully  perusing  a  dossier  of  official  papers  which  had 
been  brought  to  him  by  the  archivist. 

Between  his  thin  lips  was  a  long,  thin  Swiss  cigar — 
his  favourite  smoke — and  with  his  gold-rimmed  pince- 
nez  poised  upon  his  aquiline  nose  he  was  reading  a  docu- 
ment which  would  certainly  have  been  of  considerable 


WHAT  THE  DOSSIER  CONTAINED        57 

interest  to  Hugh  Henfrey  and  his  friend  Walter  Brock 
could  they  have  seen  it. 

Upon  the  pale  yellow  paper  were  many  lines  of  type- 
writing in  French — a  carbon  copy  evidently. 

It  was  headed:  "Republique  Franchise.  Department 
of  Herault.  Prefecture  of  Police.  Bureau  of  the  Di- 
rector of  Police.  Reference  Number  20197.B.,"  and  was 
dated  nearly  a  year  before. 

It  commenced  : 

"Copy  of  an  'information'  in  the  archives  of  the 
Prefecture  of  the  Department  of  Herault  concerning  the 
woman  Marie  Mignot,  or  Leullier,  now  passing  under 
the  name  of  Yvonne  Ferad  and  living  at  the  Villa  Amette 
at  Monte  Carlo. 

"The  woman  in  question  was  born  in  1884  at  Number 
45  Rue  des  Etuves,  in  Montpellier,  and  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  one  Doctor  Rigaud,  a  noted  toxicologist  of  the 
Faculty  of  Medicine,  and  curator  of  the  University 
Library.  At  the  age  of  seventeen,  after  her  father's 
death,  she  became  a  school  teacher  at  a  small  school  in 
the  Rue  Morceau,  and  at  nineteen  married  Charles  Leul- 
lier, a  good-looking  young  scoundrel  who  posed  as  being 
well  off,  but  who  was  afterwards  proved  to  be  an  expert 
international  thief,  a  member  of  a  gang  of  dangerous 
thieves  who  committed  robberies  in  the  European  ex- 
press trains. 

"This  fact  was  unknown  to  the  girl,  therefore  at 
first  all  went  smoothly,  until  the  wife  discovered  the 
truth  and  left  him.  She  then  joined  the  chorus  of  a 
revue  at  the  Jardin  de  Paris,  where  she  met  a  well-to-do 
Englishman  named  Bryant.  The  pair  went  to  England, 
where  she  married  him,  and  they  resided  in  the  county 


58      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

of  Northampton.  Six  months  later  Bryant  died,  leaving 
her  a  large  sum  of  money.  In  the  meantime  Leullier 
had  been  arrested  by  the  Italian  police  for  a  daring  rob- 
bery with  violence  in  a  train  travelling  between  Milan 
and  Turin  and  been  sentenced  to  ten  years  on  the  penal 
island  of  Gorgona.  His  wife,  hearing  of  this  from 
an  Englishman  named  Houghton,  who,  though  she  was 
unaware  of  it,  was  following  the  same  profession  as  her 
husband,  returned  to  France.  She  rented  an  apartment 
in  Paris,  and  afterwards  played  at  Monte  Carlo,  where 
she  won  a  considerable  sum,  with  the  proceeds  of  which 
she  purchased  the  Villa  Amette,  which  she  now  occupies 
each  season." 

"Extracts  of  reports  concerning  Marie  Leullier,  alias 
Yvonne  Ferad,  are  herewith  appended : 

"Criminal    Investigation    Department,    New    Scotland 
Yard,  London — to  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  Paris. 

"Mademoiselle    Yvonne    Ferad    rented    a    furnished 
house  at  Hove,  near  Brighton,  in  June,    1918.     After- 
wards moved  to  Worthing  and  to  Exeter,  and  later  took 
a  house  in  the  Cromwell  Road,  London,  in  1919.     She 
was  accompanied  by  an  Italian  manservant  named  Ca- 
taldi.     Her  conduct  was  suspicious,  though  she  was  un- 
doubtedly possessed  of '  considerable  means.      She   was 
often  seen  at  the  best  restaurants  with  various  male  ac- 
quaintances, more   especially   with   a   man   named   Ken- 
worthy.      Her   association   with    this   person,    and    with 
another  man  named  Percy  Stendall,  was  curious,  as  both 
men    were   habitual    criminals    and    had    served    several 
terms  of  penal  servitude  each.     Certain  suspicions  were 
aroused,  and  observation  was  kept,  but  nothing  tangible 


WHAT  THE  DOSSIER  CONTAINED        59 

was  discovered.  It  is  agreed,  however,  that  some  mys- 
tery surrounds  this  woman  in  question.  She  left  London 
quite  suddenly,  but  left  no  debts  behind." 

"Information  from  the  Borough  Police  Office,  Worth- 
ing, to  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  Department  of  Herault. 

"Mademoiselle  Yvonne  Ferad  has  been  identified  by 
the  photograph  sent  as  having  lived  in  Worthing  in 
December,  1918.  She  rented  a  small  furnished  house 
facing  the  sea,  and  was  accompanied  by  an  Italian  man- 
servant and  a  French  maid.  Her  movements  were  dis- 
tinctly mysterious.  A  serious  fracas  occurred  at  the 
house  on  the  evening  of  December  18th,  1918.  A  middle- 
aged  gentleman,  whose  name  is  unknown,  called  there 
about  seven  o'clock  and  a  violent  quarrel  ensued  be- 
tween the  lady  and  her  visitor,  the  latter  being  very 
seriously  assaulted  by  the  Italian.  The  constable  on 
duty  was  called  in,  but  the  visitor  refused  to  prosecute, 
and  after  having  his  injuries  attended  to  by  a  doctor  left 
for  London.  Three  days  later  Mademoiselle  disappeared 
from  Worthing.  It  is  believed  by  the  Chief  Constable 
that  the  woman  is  of  the  criminal  class." 

Then  Charles  Ogier,  inspector  of  the  detective  police 
of  Monaco,  smiled,  laid  down  his  cigar,  and  took  up  an- 
other and  even  more  interesting  document. 


FIFTH  CHAPTER 


ON    THE    HOG'S    BACK 


Three  days  later.  On  a  cold  afternoon  just  as  the 
wintry  light  was  fading  a  tall,  dark,  middle-aged,  rather 
handsome  man  with  black  hair  and  moustache,  and  wear- 
ing a  well-cut,  dark-grey  overcoat  and  green  velour  hat, 
alighted  from  the  train  at  the  wayside  station  of  Wan- 
borough,  in  Surrey,  and  inquired  of  the  porter  the  way 
to  Shapley  Manor. 

"Shapley,  sir?  Why,  take  the  road  there  yonder  up 
the  hill  till  you  get  to  the  main  road  which  runs  along 
the  Hog's  Back  from  Guildford  to  Farnborough.  When 
you  get  on  the  main  road,  turn  sharp  to  the  left  past  the 
old  toll-gate,  and  you'll  find  the  Manor  on  the  left  in 
among  a  big  clump  of  trees." 

"How   far?" 

"About  a  mile,  sir." 

The  stranger,  the  only  passenger  who  had  alighted, 
slipped  sixpence  into  the  man's  hand,  buttoned  his  coat, 
and  started  out  to  walk  in  the  direction  indicated,  breast- 
ing the  keen  east  wind. 

He  was  well-set-up,  and  of  athletic  bearing.  He  took 
long  strides  as  with  swinging  gait  he  went  up  the  hill. 
As  he  did  so,  he  muttered  to  himself : 

"I  was  an  infernal  fool  not  to  have  come  down  in 
a  car!  I  hate  these  beastly  muddy  country  roads.  But 
Molly  has  the  telephone — so  I  can  ring  up  for  a  car  to 
fetch  me — which  is  a  consolation,  after  all." 

60 


ON  THE  HOG'S  BACK  61 

And  with  his  keen  eyes  set  before  him,  he  pressed 
forward  up  the  steep  incline  to  where,  for  ten  miles, 
ran  the  straight  broad  highway  over  the  high  ridge 
known  as  the  Hog's  Back.  The  road  is  very  popular 
with  motorists,  for  so  high  is  it  that  on  either  side  there 
stretches  a  wide  panorama  of  country,  the  view  on  the 
north  being  towards  the  Thames  Valley  and  London, 
while  on  the  south  Hindhead  with  the  South  Downs  in 
the  blue  distance  show  beyond. 

Having  reached  the  high  road  the  stranger  paused 
to  take  breath,  and  incidentally  to  admire  the  magnificent 
view.  Indeed,  an  expression  of  admiration  fell  involun- 
tarily from  his  lips.  Then  he  went  along  for  another 
half-mile  in  the  teeth  of  the  cutting  wind  with  the  twi- 
light rapidly  coming  on,  until  he  came  to  the  clump  of 
dark  firs  and  presently  walked  up  a  gravelled  drive  to  a 
large,  but  somewhat  inartistic,  Georgian  house  of  red 
brick  with  long  square  windows.  In  parts  the  ivy  was 
trying  to  hide  its  terribly  ugly  architecture  for  around 
the  deep  porch  it  grew  thickly  and  spread  around  one 
corner  of  the  building. 

A  ring  at  the  door  brought  a  young  manservant  whom 
the  caller  addressed  as  Arthur,  and,  wishing  him  good 
afternoon,  asked  if  Mrs.  Bond  were  at  home. 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"Oh !  good,"  said  the  caller.  "Just  tell  her  I'm  here." 
And  he  proceeded  to  remove  his  coat  and  to  hang  it 
up  in  the  great  flagged  hall  with  the  air  of  one  used  to 
the  house. 

The  Manor  was  a  spacious,  well-furnished  place,  full 
of  good  pictures  and  much  old  oak  furniture. 

The  servant  passed  along  the  corridor,  and  entering 
the  drawing-room,  announced : 

"Mr.  Benton  is  here,  ma'am." 


62      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Oh !  Mr.  Benton  !  Show  him  in,"  cried  his  mistress 
enthusiastically.     "Show  him  in  at  once !" 

Next  moment  the  caller  entered  the  fine,  old-fashioned 
room,  where  a  well-preserved,  fair-haired  woman  of 
about  forty  was  taking  her  tea  alone  and  petting  her 
Pekinese. 

"Well,  Charles?  So  you've  discovered  me  here,  eh?" 
she  exclaimed,  jumping  up  and  taking  his  hand. 

"Yes,  Molly.  And  you  seem  to  have  very  comfort- 
able quarters,"  laughed  Benton  as  he  threw  himself 
unceremoniously  into  a  chintz-covered    armchair. 

"They  are,  I  assure  you." 

"And  I  suppose  you're  quite  a  great  lady  in  these  parts 
— eh? — now  that  you  live  at  Shapley  Manor.  Where's 
Louise?" 

"She  went  up  to  town  this  morning.  She  won't  be 
back  till  after  dinner.  She's  with  her  old  school-fellow 
— that  girl  Bertha  Trench." 

"Good.  Then  we  can  have  a  chat.  I've  several  things 
to  consult  you  about  and  ask  your  opinion." 

"Have  some  tea  first,"  urged  his  good-looking  hostess, 
pouring  him  some  into  a  Crown  Derby  cup. 

"Well,"  he  commenced.  "I  think  you've  done  quite 
well  to  take  this  place,  as  you've  done,  for  three  years. 
You  are  now  safely  out  of  the  way.  The  Paris  Surete 
are  making  very  diligent  inquiries,  but  the  Surrey  Con- 
stabulary will  never  identify  you  with  the  lady  of  the 
Rue  Racine.     So  you  are  quite  safe  here." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  Charles?"  she  asked,  fixing 
her  big  grey  eyes  upon  him. 

"Certain.  It  was  the  wisest  course  to  get  back  here 
to  England,  although  you  had  to  take  a  very  round- 
about journey." 

"Yes.     I  got  to  Switzerland,  then  to  Italy,  and  from 


ON  THE  HOG'S  BACK  63 

Genoa  took  an  Anchor  Line  steamer  across  to  New  York. 
After  that  I  came  over  to  Liverpool,  and  in  the  mean- 
time I  had  become  Mrs.  Bond.  Louise,  of  course,  thought 
we  were  travelling  for  pleasure.  I  had  to  explain  my 
change  of  name  by  telling  her  that  I  did  not  wish  my 
divorced  husband  to  know  that  I  was  back  in  England." 

"And  the  girl  believed  it,  of  course,"  he  laughed. 
"Of  course.  She  believes  anything  I  tell  her,"  said 
the  clever,  unscrupulous  woman  for  whom  the  Paris 
police  were  in  active  search,  whose  real  name  was  Molly 
Maxwell,  and  whose  amazing  career  was  well  known  to 
the  French  police. 

Only  recently  a  sum  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  francs 
had  fallen  into  her  hands,  and  with  it  she  now  rented 
Shapley  Manor  and  had  set  up  as  a  county  lady.  Benton 
gazed  around  the  fine  old  room  with  its  Adams  ceiling 
and  its  Georgian  furniture,  and  reflected  how  different 
were  Molly's  present  surroundings  from  that  stuffy  little 
flat  au  troisieme  in  the  Rue  Racine. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "You  had  a  very  narrow  escape, 
Molly.  I  dared  not  come  near  you,  but  I  knew  that  you'd 
look  after  the  girl." 

"Of  course.  I  always  look  after  her  as  though  she 
were  my  own  child." 

Benton's  lip  curled  as  he  sipped  his  China  tea,  and  said : 

"Because  so  much  depends  upon  her — eh?  I'm  glad 
you  view  the  situation  from  a  fair  and  proper  stand- 
point. We're  now  out  for  a  big  thing,  therefore  we  must 
not  allow  any  little  hitch  to  prevent  us  from  bringing  it 
off  successfully." 

"I  quite  agree,  Charles.  Our  great  asset  is  Louise. 
But  she  must  be  innocent  of  it  all.  She  must  know 
absolutely  nothing." 

"True.    If  she  had  an  inkling  that  we  were  forcing  her 


64      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

to  marry  Hugh  she  would  fiercely  resent  it.  She's  a  girl 
of  spirit,  after  all." 

"My  dear  Charles,  I  know  that,"  laughed  the  woman. 
"Ever  since  she  came  home  from  school  I've  noticed 
how  independent  she  is.  She  certainly  has  a  will  of  her 
own.  But  she  likes  Hugh,  and  we  must  encourage  it. 
Recollect  that  a  fortune  is  at  stake." 

"I  have  not  overlooked  that,"  the  man  said.  "But  of 
late  I've  come  to  fear  that  we  are  treading  upon  thin 
ice.  I  don't  like  the  look  of  affairs  at  the  present  mo- 
ment. Young  Henfrey  is  head  over  ears  in  love  with 
that  girl  Dorise  Ranscomb,  and " 

"Bah !  It's  only  a  flirtation,  my  dear  Charles,"  laughed 
the  woman.  "When  just  a  little  pressure  is  put  upon  the 
boy,  and  a  sly  hint  to  Lady  Ranscomb,  then  the  affair 
will  soon  be  off,  and  he'll  fall  into  Louise's  arms.  She's 
really  very  fond  of  him." 

"She  may  be,  but  he  takes  no  notice  of  her.  She  told 
me  so  the  other  day.  He's  gone  to  the  Riviera — fol- 
lowed Dorise,  I  suppose,"  Benton  said. 

"Yvonne  wrote  me  a  few  days  ago  to  say  that  he  was 
there  with  a  friend  of  his  named  Walter  Brock.  Who's 
he?" 

"Oh !  a  naval  lieutenant-commander  who  served  in  the 
war  and  was  invalided  out  after  the  Battle  of  Jutland. 
He  got  the  D.S.O.  over  the  Falklands  affair,  and  has 
now  some  post  at  the  Admiralty.  He  was  in  command 
of  a  torpedo  boat  which  sank  a  German  cruiser,  and  was 
afterwards  blown  up." 

"They  are  both  out  at  Monte  Carlo,  Yvonne  says. 
And  Henfrey  is  with  Dorise  daily,"  remarked  the  woman. 

"Yvonne  is  always  apprehensive  lest  young  Henfrey 
should  learn  the  secret  of  the  old  fellow's  end,"  said 
Benton.     "But  I  don't  see  how  the  truth  of  the — well, 


ON  THE  HOG'S  BACK  65 

rather  ugly  affair  can  ever  come  out,  except  by  an  indis- 
cretion by  one  or  other  of  us." 

"And  that  is  scarcely  likely,  Charles,  is  it?"  his  hostess 
laughed  as  she  pushed  across  to  him  a  big  silver  box 
of  cigarettes  and  then  reclined  lazily  among  her  cushions. 

"No.  It  would  certainly  be  a  very  sensational  affair 
if  the  newspapers  got  hold  of  the  facts,  my  dear  Molly. 
But  don't  let  us  anticipate  such  a  thing.  Fortunately 
Louise,  in  her  girlish  innocence,  knows  nothing.  Old 
Henfrey  left  his  money  to  his  son  upon  certain  conditions, 
one  of  which  is  that  Hugh  shall  marry  Louise.  And 
that  marriage  must,  at  all  hazards,  take  place.  After 
that,  we  care  for  nothing." 

The  handsome  woman  who  was  rolling  a  cigarette 
between  her  well-manicured  fingers  hesitated.  Her  coun- 
tenance assumed  a  strange  look  as  she  reflected.  She 
was  far  too  clever  to  express  any  off-hand  opinion.  She 
had  outwitted  the  police  of  Paris,  Brussels,  and  Rome 
in  turn.  Her  whole  career  had  been  a  criminal  one, 
punctuated  by  periods  of  pretended  high  respectability — 
while  the  funds  to  support  it  had  lasted.  And  upon  her 
hands  had  been  placed  Louise  Lambert,  the  child  Charles 
Benton  had  adopted  ten  years  before. 

"We  shall  have  to  exercise  a  good  deal  of  discretion 
and  caution  in  regard  to  Louise,"  she  declared.  "The 
affair  is  not  at  all  so  plain  sailing  as  I  at  first  believed." 

"No.  It  is  a  serious  contretemps  that  you  had  to 
leave  Paris,  Molly,"  agreed  her  well-dressed  visitor. 
"The  young  American  was  a  fool,  of  course,  but  I 
think " 

"Paris  was  flooded  by  rich  young  men  from  the  United 
States  who  came  over  to  fight  the  Boche  and  to  spend 
their  money  like  water  when  on  leave  in  Paris.  Frank 
was  only  one  of  them." 


66      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Benton  was  silent.  The  affair  was  a  distinctly  un- 
savoury one.  Frank  van  Geen,  the  son  of  the  Dutch- 
American  millionaire  cocoa  manufacturer  of  Chicago, 
had,  by  reason  of  his  association  with  Molly,  found  him- 
self the  poorer  by  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  million  francs, 
and  his  body  had  been  found  in  the  Seine  between  the 
Pont  d'Auteuil  and  the  He  St.  Germain.  At  the  inquiry 
some  ugly  disclosures  were  made,  but  alrerdy  the  lady 
of  the  Rue  Racine  and  her  supposed  niece  had  left  Paris; 
and  though  the  affair  was  one  of  suicide,  the  police  raised 
a  hue  and  cry,  and  the  frontiers  had  been  watched,  but 
the  pair  had  disappeared. 

That  was  several  months  ago.  And  now  Molly  Max- 
well the  adventuress  in  Paris  had  been  transformed  into 
the  wealthy  and  highly  respectable  widow  Mrs.  Bond, 
who  having  presented  such  excellent  references  had  be- 
come tenant  of  that  well-furnished  mansion,  Shapley 
Manor,  and  the  beautiful  grounds  adjoining.  For  nearly 
two  centuries  it  had  been  the  home  of  the  Puttenhams, 
but  Sir  George  Puttenham,  Baronet,  the  present  owner, 
had  found  himself  ruined  by  war-taxation,  and  as  one 
of  the  new  poor  he  had  been  glad  to  let  the  place  and 
live  upon  the  rent  obtained  for  it.  His  case,  indeed,  was 
only  one  of  thousands  of  others  in  England,  where  ad- 
venturers and  war-profiteers  were  ousting  the  landed 
gentry. 

"Yvonne  is  evidently  keeping  a  good  watch  upon  young 
Hugh,"  remarked  Benton  presently,  as  he  blew  a  ring 
of  cigarette  smoke  towards  the  ceiling. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  woman,  her  eyes  fixed  out  of  the 
big  window  which  commanded  a  glorious  view  of  Gibbet 
Hill,  at  Hindhead,  and  the  blue  South  Downs  towards 
the  English  Channel.  But  all  was  dark  and  lowering  in 
the  winter  twilight,  now  fast  darkening  into  night. 


ON  THE  HOG'S  BACK  67 

In  old-world  Guildford,  the  county  town  of  Surrey, 
with  its  steep  High  Street  containing  many  seventeenth- 
century  houses,  its  old  inns,  and  its  balconied  Guildhall 
— the  scene  of  so  many  unseemly  wrangles  among  the 
robed  and  cocked-hatted  borough  councillors  who  are, 
par  excellence,  outstanding  illustrations  of  the  provincial 
petty  jealousies  of  bumbledom — Airs.  Bond  was  wel- 
comed by  the  trades-people  who  vied  with  each  other  to 
"serve  her."  Almost  daily  she  went  up  and  down  the 
High  Street  in  her  fine  Rolls-Royce  driven  by  Mead,  an 
ex-soldier  and  a  worthy  fellow  whom  she  had  engaged 
through  an  advertisement  in  the  Surrey  Advertiser.  He 
had  been  in  the  Queen's  West  Surrey,  and  his  home  being 
in  Guildford,  Molly  knew  that  he  would  serve  as  a 
testimonial  to  her  high  respectability.  Molly  Maxwell 
was  an  outstandingly  clever  woman.  She  never  let  a 
chance  slip  by  that  might  be  taken  advantageously. 

Mead,  who  went  on  his  "push-bike"  every  evening 
along  the  Hog's  Back  to  Guildford,  was  never  tired  of 
singing  the  praises  of  his  generous  mistress. 

"She's  a  real  good  sort,"  he  would  tell  his  friends 
in  the  bar  of  the  Lion  or  the  Angel.  "She  knows  how 
to  treat  a  man.  She's  a  widow,  and  good-looking.  I 
suppose  she'll  marry  again.  Nearly  all  the  best  people 
about  here  have  called  on  her  within  the  last  week  or 
two.  Magistrates  and  their  wives,  retired  generals,  and 
lots  of  the  gentry.  Yes,  my  job  isn't  to  be  sneezed  at, 
I  can  tell  you.  It's  better  than  driving  a  lorry  outside 
Ypres !" 

Mrs.  Bond  treated  Mead  extremely  well,  and  paid  him 
well.  She  knew  that  by  so  doing  she  would  secure  a  good 
advertisement.  She  had  done  so  before,  when  four  of 
five  years  ago  she  had  lived  at  Keswick. 

"Do  you   know,    Charles,"   she   said   presently,   "I'm 


68      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

really  very  apprehensive  regarding  the  present  situation. 
Yvonne  is,  no  doubt,  keeping  a  watchful  eye  upon  the 
young  fellow.  But  what  can  she  do  if  he  has  followed 
the  Ranscomb  girl  and  is  with  her  each  day?  Each 
day,  indeed,  must  bring  the  pair  closer  together,  and " 

"That's  what  we  must  prevent,  my  dear  Molly!"  ex- 
claimed the  lady's  visitor.  "Think  of  all  it  means  to  us. 
You  are  quite  safe  here — as  safe  as  I  am  to-day.  But 
we  can't  last  out  without  money — either  of  us.  We  must 
have  cash-money — and  cash-money  always." 

"Yes.  That's  so.  But  Yvonne  is  wonderful — amaz- 
ing." 

"She  hasn't  the  same  stake  in  the  affair  as  we  have." 

"Why  not  ?"  asked  the  woman  for  whom  the  European 
police  were  in  search. 

"Well,  because  she  is  rich — she's  won  pots  of  money 
at  the  tables — and  we — well,  both  of  us  have  only  limited 
means.  Yours,  Molly,  are  larger  than  mine — thanks  to 
Frank.  But  I  must  have  money  soon.  My  expenses  in 
town  are  mounting  up  daily." 

"But  your  rooms  don't  cost  you  very  much !  Old  Mrs. 
Evans  looks  after  things  as  she  has  always  done." 

"Yes.  But  everything  is  going  up  in  price,  and  remem- 
ber, I  dare  not  cross  the  Channel  just  now.  At  Calais, 
Boulogne,  Cherbourg,  and  other  places,  they  have  my 
photograph,  and  they  are  waiting  for  me  to  fall  into  the 
trap.  But  the  rat.  once  encaged,  is  shy!  And  I  am  very 
shy  just  now,"  he  added  with  a  light  laugh. 

"You'll  stay  and  have  dinner,  won't  you?"  urged  his 
hostess. 

Benton  hesitated. 

"If  I  do  Louise  may  return,  and  just  now  I  don't  want 
to  meet  her.    It  is  better  not." 


ON  THE  HOG'S  BACK  69 

"But  she  won't  be  back  till  the  last  train  to  Guildford. 
Mead  is  meeting  her.    Yes — stay." 

"I  must  get  a  car  to  take  me  back  to  town.  I  have 
to  go  to  Glasgow  by  the  early  train  in  the  morning." 

"Well,  we'll  order  one  from  one  of  the  garages  in 
Guildford.  You  really  must  stay,  Charles.  There's  lots 
we  have  to  talk  over — a  lot  of  things  that  are  of  vital 
consequence  to  us  both." 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door  and  the 
young  manservant  entered,  saying: 

"You're  wanted  on  the  telephone,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Bond  rose  from  the  settee  and  went  to  the  tele- 
phone in  the  library,  where  she  heard  the  voice  of  a 
female  telephone  operator. 

"Is  that  Shapley  Manor?"  she  asked.  "I  have  a  tele- 
gram for  Mrs.  Bond.  Handed  in  at  Nice  at  two  twenty- 
five,  received  here  at  four  twenty-eight.  'To  Bond, 
Shapley  Manor,  near  Guildford.  Yvonne  shot  by  some 
unknown  person  while  with  Hugh.  In  grave  danger. — S.' 
That  is  the  message.    Have  you  got  it  please  ?" 

Mrs.  Bond  held  her  breath. 

"Yes,"  she  gasped.     "Anything  else?" 

"No,  madam,"  replied  the  telephone  operator  at  the 
Guildford  Post  Office.  "Nothing  else.  I  will  forward 
the  duplicate  by  post." 

And  she  switched  off. 


SIXTH  CHAPTER 

FACING   THE   UNKNOWN 

That  the  police  were  convinced  that  Hugh  Henfrey 
had  shot  Mademoiselle  was  plain. 

Wherever  he  went  an  agent  of  detective  police  fol- 
lowed him.  At  the  Cafe  de  Paris  as  he  took  his  aperitif 
on  the  terrasse  the  man  sat  at  a  table  near,  idly  smoking 
a  cigarette  and  glancing  at  an  illustrated  paper  on  a 
wooden  holder.  In  the  gardens,  in  the  Rooms,  in  the 
Galerie,  everywhere  the  same  insignificant  little  man 
haunted  him. 

Soon  after  luncheon  he  met  Dorise  and  her  mother  in 
the  Rooms.  With  them  were  the  Comte  d'Autun,  an 
elegant  young  Frenchman,  well  known  at  the  tables,  and 
Madame  Tavera,  a  very  chic  person  who  was  one  of  the 
most  admired  visitors  of  that  season.  They  were  only 
idling  and  watching  the  players  at  the  end  table,  where 
a  stout,  bearded  Russian  was  making  some  sensational 
coups  en  plein. 

Presently  Hugh  succeeded  in  getting  Dorise  alone. 

"It's  awfully  stuffy  here,"  he  said.  "Let's  go  outside — 
eh?" 

Together  they  descended  the  red-carpeted  steps  and 
out  into  the  palm-lined  Place,  at  that  hour  thronged  by 
the  smartest  crowd  in  Europe.  Indeed,  the  war  seemed 
to  have  led  to  increased  extravagance  and  daring  in  the 
dress  of  those  gay  Parisiennes,  those  butterflies  of 
fashion  who  were  everywhere  along  the  Cote  d'Azur. 

70 


FACING  THE  UNKNOWN  71 

They  turned  the  corner  by  the  Palais  des  Beaux  Arts 
into  the  Boulevard  Peirara. 

"Let's  walk  out  of  the  town,"  he  suggested  to  the  girl. 
"I'm  tired  of  the  place." 

"So  am  I,  Hugh,"  Dorise  admitted.  "For  the  first 
fortnight  the  unceasing  round  of  gaiety  and  the  novelty 
of  the  Rooms  are  most  fascinating,  but,  after  that,  one 
seems  cooped  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  vicious  unreality. 
One  longs  for  the  open  air  and  open  country  after  this 
enervating,  exotic  life." 

So  when  they  arrived  at  the  little  church  of  Ste. 
Devote,  the  patron  saint  of  Monaco,  that  little  building 
which  everyone  knows  standing  at  the  entrance  to  that 
deep  gorge  the  Vallon  des  Gaumates,  they  descended  the 
steep,  narrow  path  which  runs  beside  the  mountain  tor- 
rent and  were  soon  alone  in  the  beautiful  little  valley 
where  the  grey-green  olives  overhang  the  rippling  stream. 
The  little  valley  was  delightfully  quiet  and  rural  after 
the  garish  scenes  in  Monte  Carlo,  the  cosmopolitan 
chatter,  and  the  vulgar  display  of  the  war-rich.  The 
old  habitue  of  pre-war  days  lifts  his  hands  as  he  watches 
the  post-war  life  around  the  Casino  and  listens  to  the 
loud  uneducated  chatter  of  the  profiteer's  womenfolk. 

As  the  pair  went  along  in  the  welcome  shadows,  for 
the  sun  fell  strong  upon  the  tumbling  stream,  Hugh  was 
remarking  upon  it. 

He  had  been  at  Monte  Carlo  with  his  father  before 
the  war,  and  realized  the  change. 

"I  only  wish  mother  would  move  on,"  Dorise  ex- 
claimed as  they  strolled  slowly  together. 

She  presented  a  dainty  figure  in  cream  gabardine  and 
a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat  which  suited  her  admirably. 
Her  clothes  were  made  by  a  certain  famous  conturicre  in 
Hanover   Square,  for  Lady  Ranscomb  had  the  art  of 


72      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

dressing  her  daughter  as  well  as  she  did  herself.  Gowns 
make  the  lady  nowadays,  or  the  fashionable  dressmakers 
dare  not  make  their  exorbitant  charges. 

"Then  you  also  are  tired  of  the  place?"  asked  Hugh, 
as  he  strolled  slowly  at  her  side  in  a  dark-blue  suit  and 
straw  hat.  They  made  a  handsome  pair,  and  were  in- 
deed well  suited  to  each  other.  Lady  Ranscomb  liked 
Hugh,  but  she  had  no  idea  that  the  young  people  had 
fallen  so  violently  in  love  with  each  other. 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl.  "Mother  promised  to  spend 
Easter  in  Florence.  I've  never  been  there  and  am  look- 
ing forward  to  it  so  much.  The  Marchesa  Ruggeri, 
whom  we  met  at  Harrogate  last  summer,  has  a  villa 
there,  and  has  invited  us  for  Easter.  But  mother  said 
this  morning  that  she  preferred  to  remain  here." 

"Why?" 

"Oh!  Somebody  in  the  hotel  has  put  her  off.  An 
old  Englishwoman  who  lives  in  Florence  told  her  that 
there's  nothing  to  see  beyond  the  Galleries,  and  that 
the  place  is  very  catty." 

Hugh  laughed,  and  replied: 

"All  British  colonies  in  Continental  cities  are  catty, 
my  dear  Dorise.  They  say  that  for  scandal  Florence 
takes  the  palm.  I  went  there  for  two  seasons  in  succes- 
sion before  the  war,  and  found  the  place  delightful." 

"The  Marchesa  is  a  charming  woman.  Her  husband 
was  an  attache  at  the  Italian  Embassy  in  Paris.  But  he 
has  been  transferred  to  Washington,  so  she  has  gone 
back  to  Florence.  I  like  her  immensely,  and  I  do  so 
want  to  visit  her." 

"Oh,  you  must  persuade  your  mother  to  take  you," 
he  said.    "She'll  be  easily  persuaded." 

"I  don't  know.  She  doesn't  like  travelling  in  Italy. 
She  once  had  her  dressing-case  stolen   from  the  train 


FACING  THE  UNKNOWN  73 

between  Milan  and  Genoa,  so  she's  always  horribly  bitter 
against  all  Italians." 

"There  are  thieves  also  on  English  railways,  Dorise," 
Hugh  remarked.  "People  are  far  too  prone  to  exagger- 
ate the  shortcomings  of  foreigners,  and  close  their  eyes 
to  the  faults  of  the  British." 

"But  everybody  is  not  so  cosmopolitan  as  you  are, 
Hugh,"  the  girl  laughed,  raising  her  eyes  to  those  of 
her  lover. 

"No,"  he  replied  with  a  sigh. 

"Why  do  you  sigh?"  asked  the  girl,  having  noticed 
a  change  in  her  companion  ever  since  they  had  met  in  the 
Rooms.  He  seemed  strangely  thoughtful  and  preoccu- 
pied. 

"Did  I?"  he  asked,  suddenly  pulling  himself  together. 
"I  didn't  know,"  he  added  with  a  forced  laugh. 
"You  don't  look  yourself  to-day,  Hugh,"  she  said. 
"I've  been  told  that  once  before,"  he  replied.     "The 
weather — I  think !    Are  you  going  over  to  the  bal  blanc 
at  Nice  to-night?" 

"Of  course.    And  you  are  coming  also.    Hasn't  mother 
asked  you?"  she  inquired  in  surprise. 
"No." 

"How  silly !  She  must  have  forgotten.  She  told  me 
she  intended  to  ask  you  to  have  a  seat  in  the  car.  The 
Comte  d'Autun  is  coming  with  us." 

"Ah!  He  admires  you,  Dorise,  hence  I  don't  like 
him,"  Hugh  blurted  forth. 

"But,  surely,  you're  not  jealous,  you  dear  old  thing!" 
laughed  the  girl,  tantalizing  him.  Perhaps  she  would  not 
have  uttered  those  words  which  cut  deeply  into  his 
heart  had  she  known  the  truth  concerning  the  tragedy  at 
the  Villa  Amette. 

"I  don't  like  him  because  he  seems  to  live  by  gambling," 


74      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Hugh  declared.  "I  know  your  mother  likes  him  very 
much — of  course  !" 

"And  she  likes  you,  too,  dear." 

"She  may  like  me,  but  I  fear  she  begins  to  suspect 
that  we  love  each  other,  dearest,"  he  said  in  a  hard  tone. 
"If  she  does,  she  will  take  care  in  future  to  keep  us 
apart,  and  I — I  shall  lose  you,  Dorise !" 

"No — no,  you  won't." 

"Ah !  But  I  shall !  Your  mother  will  never  allow 
you  to  marry  a  man  who  has  only  just  sufficient  to  rub 
along  with,  and  who  is  already  in  debt  to  his  tailor. 
What  hope  is  there  that  we  can  ever  marry  ?" 

"My  dear  Hugh,  you  are  awfully  pessimistic  to-day," 
the  girl  cried.  "What  is  up  with  you?  Have  you  lost 
heavily  at  the  tables — or  what?" 

"No.  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  future,"  he  said 
in  a  hard  voice  so  very  unusual  to  him.  "I  am  thinking 
of  your  mother's  choice  of  a  husband  for  you — George 
Sherrard." 

"I  hate  him — the  egotistical  puppy!"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  her  fine  eyes  flashing  with  anger.  "I'll  never  marry 
him — never!" 

But  Hugh  Henfrey  made  no  reply,  and  they  went  on 
together  in  silence. 

"Cannot  you  trust  me,  Hugh?"  asked  the  girl  at  last 
in  a  low  earnest  tone. 

"Yes,  dearest.  I  trust  you,  of  course.  But  I  feel 
certain  that  your  mother,  when  she  knows  our  secret,  will 
forbid  your  seeing  me,  and  press  on  your  marriage  with 
Sherrard.  Remember,  he's  a  rich  man,  and  your  mother 
adores  the  Golden  Calf." 

"I  know  she  does.  If  people  have  money  she  wants  to 
know  them.  Her  first  inquiry  is  whether  they  have 
money." 


FACING  THE  UNKNOWN  75 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Hugh's  tongue  to  remark  with 
sarcasm  that  such  ideals  might  well  be  expected  of  the 
wife  of  a  jerry-builder  in  Golder's  Green.  But  he  hesi- 
tated. Lady  Ranscomb  was  always  well  disposed  towards 
him,  and  he  had  had  many  good  times  at  her  house  and 
on  the  grouse  moor  she  rented  in  Scotland  each  year  for 
the  benefit  of  her  intimate  friends.  Though  she  had 
been  the  wife  of  a  small  builder  and  had  commenced  her 
married  life  in  an  eight-roomed  house  on  the  fringe  of 
Hampstead  Heath,  yet  she  had  picked  up  society  man- 
ners marvellously  well,  being  a  woman  of  quick  intelli- 
gence and  considerable  wit.  Nevertheless,  she  had  no 
soul  above  money,  and  gaiety  was  as  life  to  her.  She 
could  not  live  without  it.  Dorise  had  been  given  an 
excellent  education,  and  after  three  years  at  Versailles 
was  now  voted  one  of  the  prettiest  and  most  charming 
girls  in  London  society.  Hence  mother  and  daughter 
were  sought  after  everywhere,  and  their  doings  were 
constantly  being  chronicled  in  the  newspapers. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Your  mother  has  not  asked  me  over 
to  Nice  to-night  because  she  believes  you  and  I  have 
been  too  much  together  of  late." 

"No,"  declared  Dorise,  "I'm  sure  it's  not  that,  Hugh— 
I'm  quite  sure !  It's  simply  an  oversight.  I'll  see  about 
it  when  we  get  back.  We  leave  the  hotel  at  half- 
past  nine.  It  is  the  great  White  Ball  of  the  Nice 
season." 

"Please  don't  mention  it  to  her  on  any  account.  Dorise," 
Hugh  urged.  "If  you  did  it  would  nt  once  show  her 
that  you  preferred  my  company  to  that  of  the  Count. 
Go  with  him.  I  shan't  be  jealous !  Besides,  in  view  of 
my  financial  circumstances,  what  right  have  I  to  be 
jealous?  You  can't  marry  a  fellow  like  myself,  Dorise. 
It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  vou." 


76      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

The  girl  halted.  In  her  eyes  shone  the  light  of  unshed 
tears. 

"Hugh!  What  do  you  mean?  What  are  you  say- 
ing?" she  asked  in  a  low,  faltering  voice.  "Have  I  not 
told  you  that  whatever  happens  I  shall  never  love  an- 
other man  but  3'ourself  ?" 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  without  replying  placed 
his  strong  arms  around  her  and,  drawing  her  to  him, 
kissed  her  passionately  upon  the  lips. 

"Thank  you,  my  darling,"  he  murmured.  "Thank  you 
for  those  words.  They  put  into  me  a  fresh  hope,  a  fresh 
determination,  and  a  fearlessness — oh!  you — you  don't 
know !"  he  added  in  a  low,  earnest  voice. 

"All  I  know,  Hugh,  is  that  you  love  me,"  was  the 
simple  response  as  she  reciprocated  his  fierce  caress. 

"Love  you,  darling!"  he  cried.  "Yes.  You  are  mine — 
mine !" 

"True,  Hugh.  I  love  no  other  man.  I  hate  that  tailor's 
dummy,  George  Sherrard,  and  as  for  the  Count — well, 
he's  an  idiotic  Frenchman — the  'hardy  annual  of  Monte 
Carlo'  I  heard  him  called  the  other  day.  No,  Hugh,  I 
assure  you  that  you  have  no  cause  for  jealousy." 

And  she  smiled  sweetly  into  his  eyes. 

They  were  standing  together  beneath  a  twisted  old 
olive  tree  through  the  dark  foliage  of  which  the  sun 
shone  in  patches,  while  by  their  feet  the  mountain 
torrent  from  the  high,  snow-clad  Alps  rippled  and 
splashed  over  the  great  grey  boulders  towards  the  sea. 

"I  know  it,  darling!  I  know  it,"  Flugh  said  in  a 
stifled  voice.  He  was  thinking  of  the  tragedy  of  that 
night,  but  dare  not  disclose  to  her  his  connexion  with 
it,  because  he  knew  the  police  suspected  him  of  making 
that  murderous  attack  upon  the  famous  "Mademoiselle." 

"Forgive  me,  Hugh,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  still  clasped 


FACING  THE  UNKNOWN  yy 

in  her  lover's  arms.  "But  somehow  you  don't  seem  your 
old  self  to-day.  What  is  the  matter?  Can't  you  tell 
me?" 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"No,  darling.  Excuse  me.  I — I'm  a  bit  upset  that's 
all." 

"Why?" 

"I'm  upset  because  for  the  last  day  or  two  I  have  be- 
gun to  realize  that  our  secret  must  very  soon  come  out, 
and  then — well,  your  mother  will  forbid  me  the  house 
horn  use  I  have  no  money.  You  know  that  she  worships 
Mammon  always — just  as  your  father  did — forgive  me 
for  my  words." 

"I  do  forgive  you  because  you  speak  the  truth,"  Dorise 
replied.  "I  know  that  mother  wants  me  to  marry  a  rich 
man.  and " 

"And  she  will  compel  you  to  do  so,  darling.  I  am 
convinced  of  that." 

"She  won't !"  cried  the  girl.  "I  will  never  marry  a  man 
I  do  not  love  !" 

"Your  mother,  if  she  doesn't  suspect  our  compact,  will 
soon  do  so,"  he  said.  "She's  a  clever  woman.  She  is 
on  the  alert,  because  she  intends  you  to  marry  soon,  and 
to  marry  a  rich  man." 

"Mother  is  far  too  fond  of  society,  I  admit.  She  lives 
only  for  her  gay  friends  now  that  father  is  dead.  She 
spends  lavishly  upon  luncheons  and  dinners  at  the  Ritz, 
the  Carlton,  and  Cla'-id^e's;  and  by  doing  so  we  get  to 
know  all  the  best  people.  But  what  does  it  matter  to 
me?     I  hate  it  all  because " 

And  she  looked  straight  into  his  eyes  as  she  broke  off. 
"Because."  she   whispered,   "because — because   I  love 
you.  Hugh!" 

"Ah !  darling !    You  have  never  been  so  frank  with  me 


78      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

before,"  he  said  softly.  "You  do  not  know  how  much 
those  words  of  yours  mean  to  me!  You  do  not  know 
how  all  my  life,  all  my  hopes,  all  my  future,  is  centred 
in  your  own  dear  self !"  and  clasping  her  again  tightly 
in  his  arms  he  pressed  his  lips  fondly  to  hers  in  a  long 
passionate  embrace. 

Yet  within  the  stout  heart  of  Hugh  Henf  rey,  who  was 
as  straight,  honest  and  upright  a  young  fellow  as  ever 
trod  the  Broad  at  Oxford,  lay  that  ghastly  secret — in- 
deed, a  double  secret — that  of  his  revered  father's  mys- 
terious end  and  the  inexplicable  attack  upon  Yvonne 
Ferad  at  the  very  moment  when  he  had  been  about  to 
learn  the  truth. 

They  lingered  there  beside  the  mountain  stream  for 
a  long  time,  until  the  sun  sank  and  the  light  began  to 
fail.  Again  and  again  he  told  her  of  his  great  love  for 
her,  but  he  said  nothing  of  the  strange  clause  in  his 
father's  will.  She  knew  Louise  Lambert,  having  met  her 
once  walking  in  the  park  with  her  lover.  Hugh  had 
introduced  them,  and  had  afterwards  explained  that  the 
girl  was  the  adopted  daughter  of  a  great  friend  of  his 
father. 

Dorise  little  dreamed  that  if  her  lover  married  her 
he  would  inherit  the  remainder  of  old  Mr.  Henfrey's 
fortune. 

"Do  come  over  to  the  ball  at  Nice  to-night,"  the  girl 
urged  presently  as  they  stood  with  hands  clasped  gazing 
into  each  other's  eyes.  "It  will  be  nothing  without 
you." 

"Ah!  darling,  that's  very  nice  of  you  to  say  so,  but 
I  think  we  ought  to  be  discreet.  Your  mother  has  in- 
vited the  Count  to  go  with  you." 

"I  hate  him!"  Dorise  declared.  "He's  all  elegance, 
bows  and  flattery.     He  bores  me  to  death." 


FACING  THE  UNKNOWN  79 

"I  can  quite  understand  that.  But  your  mother  is  fond 
of  his  society.  She  declares  that  he  is  so  amusing,  and 
in  Paris  he  knows  everyone  worth  knowing." 

"Oh,  yes.  He  gave  us  an  awfully  good  time  in  Paris 
last  season — took  us  to  Longchamps,  and  we  afterwards 
went  to  Deauville  with  him.  He  wins  and  loses  big 
sums  on  the  turf." 

"A  born  gambler.  Everyone  knows  that.  I  heard  a 
lot  about  him  in  the  Travellers'  Club,  in  Paris." 

"But  if  mother  telephones  to  you,  you'll  come  with 
us — won't  you?"  entreated  the  girl  again. 

The  young  man  hesitated.  His  mind  was  full  of  the 
tragic  affair  of  the  previous  night.  He  was  wondering 
whether  the  end  had  come — whether  Mademoiselle's 
lips  were  already  sealed  by  Death. 

He  gave  an  evasive  reply,  whereupon  Dorise,  taking 
his  hand  in  hers,  said : 

"What  is  your  objection  to  going  out  with  us  to- 
night, Hugh?  Do  tell  me.  If  you  don't  wish  me  to  go, 
I'll  make  an  excuse  to  mother  and  she  can  take  the 
Count." 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  objection,"  he  declared  at 
once.  "Go,  dearest — only  leave  me  out  of  it.  The  bal 
blanc  is  always  good  fun." 

"I  shall  not  go  if  you  refuse  to  go,"  she  said  with  a 
pout. 

Therefore  in  order  to  please  her  he  consented — pro- 
viding Lady  Ranscomb  invited  him. 

They  had  wandered  a  long  way  up  the  narrow,  secluded 
valley,  but  had  met  not  a  soul.  All  was  delightful  and 
picturesque,  the  profusion  of  wild  flowers,  the  huge  grey 
moss-grown  boulders,  the  overhanging  ilexes  and  olives, 
and  the  music  of  the  tumbling  current  through  a  crooked 
course  worn  deep  by  the  waters  of  primeval  ages. 


80      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

It  was  seldom  that  in  the  whirl  of  society  the  pair 
could  get  a  couple  of  hours  together  without  interruption. 
And  under  the  blue  Riviera  sky  they  were  indeed  fraught 
with  bliss  to  both. 

When  they  returned  to  the  town  the  dusk  was  already 
falling,  and  the  great  arc  lamps  along  the  terrace  in  front 
of  the  Casino  were  already  lit.  Hugh  took  her  as  far 
as  the  entrance  to  the  Metropole  and  then,  after  wishing 
her  au  revoir  and  promising  to  go  with  her  to  Nice  if 
invited,  he  hastily  retraced  his  steps  to  the  Palmiers. 
Five  minutes  later  he  was  speaking  to  the  old  Italian  at 
the  Villa  Amette. 

"Mademoiselle  is  still  unconscious,  m'sieur,"  was  the 
servant's  reply  to  his  eager  inquiry.  "The  doctors  have 
been  several  times  this  afternoon,  but  they  hold  out  no 
hope." 

"I  wonder  if  I  can  be  of  any  assistance?"  Hugh  asked 
in  French. 

"I  think  not,  m'sieur.  What  assistance  can  any  of 
us  give  poor  Mademoiselle  ?" 

Ah,  what  indeed,  Hugh  thought  as  he  put  down  the 
receiver. 

Yet  while  she  lived,  there  was  still  a  faint  hope  that 
he  would  be  able  to  learn  the  secret  which  he  anticipated 
would  place  him  in  such  a  position  that  he  might  defy 
those  who  had  raised  their  hands  against  his  father 
and  himself. 

His  marriage  with  Dorise,  indeed  his  whole  future, 
depended  upon  the  disclosure  of  the  clever  plot  whereby 
Louise  Lambert  was  to  become  his  wife. 

His  friend  Brock  was  not  in  the  hotel,  so  he  went 
to  his  room  to  dress  for  dinner.  Ten  minutes  later  a 
page  brought  a  message  from  Lady  Ranscomb  inviting 
him  to  go  over  to  Nice  to  the  ball. 


FACING  THE  UNKNOWN  81 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  He  was  in  no  mood  for 
dancing  that  night,  for  he  was  far  too  perturbed  regard- 
ing the  critical  condition  of  the  notorious  woman  who 
had  turned  his   friend. 

On  every  hand  there  were  whispers  and  wild  reports 
concerning  the  tragedy  at  the  Villa  Amette.  He  had  heard 
about  it  from  a  dozen  people,  though  not  a  word  was  in 
the  papers.  Yet  nobody  dreamed  that  he,  of  all  men, 
had  been  present  when  the  mysterious  shot  was  fired,  or 
that  he  was,  indeed,  the  cause  of  the  secret  attack. 

He  dressed  slowly,  and  having  done  so,  descended  to 
the  salle  a  manger.  The  big  white  room  was  filled  with 
a  gay,  reckless  cosmopolitan  crowd — the  crowd  of  well- 
dressed  moths  of  both  sexes  which  eternally  flutters  at 
night  at  Monte  Carlo,  attracted  by  the  candle  held  by 
the  great  god  Hazard. 

Brock  was  not  there,  and  he  seated  himself  alone  at 
their  table  near  the  long-curtained  window.  He  was 
surprised  at  his  friend's  absence.  Perhaps,  however,  he 
had  met  friends  and  gone  over  to  Beaulieu,  Nice,  or 
Mentone   with   them. 

He  had  but  little  appetite.  He  ate  a  small  portion  of 
langouste  with  an  exquisite  salad,  and  drank  a  single 
glass  of  chablis.  Then  he  rose  and  quitted  the  chatter- 
ing, laughing  crowd  of  diners,  whose  gossip  was  mainly 
upon  a  sensational  run  on  the  red  at  five  o'clock  that 
evening.  One  woman,  stout  and  of  Hebrew  type,  sitting 
with  three  men,  was  wildly  merry,  for  she  had  won  the 
equivalent  to  sixty  thousand  pounds. 

All  that  recklessness  jarred  upon  the  young  man's 
nerves.  He  tried  to  close  his  ears  to  it  all,  and  ascended 
again  to  his  room,  where  he  sat  in  silent  despondency 
till  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  round  to  the  Metropole  to 
join  Lady  Ranscomb  and  Dorise. 


82      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

He  had  brushed  his  hair  and  rearranged  his  tie,  and 
was  about  to  put  on  the  parrot's  costume  of  white  satin 
with  big  buttons  of  blacl:  velvet  which  he  had  worn  at 
the  bal  blanc  at  Mentone  about  a  week  before,  when  the 
page  handed  him  another  note. 

Written  in  a  distinctly  foreign  hand,  it  read: 

"Instantly  you  receive  this  get  into  a  travelling-suit 
and  put  what  money  and  valuables  you  have  into  your 
pockets.  Then  go  to  a  dark-green  car  which  will  await 
you  by  the  reservoir  in  the  Boulevard  du  Midi.  Trust 
the  driver.  You  must  get  over  the  frontier  into  Italy 
at  the  earliest  moment.  Every  second's  delay  is  danger- 
ous to  you.  Do  not  trouble  to  find  out  who  sends  you  this 
warning!    Bon  voyage!" 

Hugh  Henfrey  read  it  and  re-read  it.  The  truth  was 
plain.  The  police  of  Monaco  suspected  him,  and  intended 
that  he  should  be  arrested  on  suspicion  of  having  com- 
mitted the  crime. 

But  who  was  his  unknown   friend? 

He  stood  at  the  window  reflecting.  If  he  did  not 
keep  his  appointment  with  Dorise  she  would  reproach 
him  for  breaking  his  word  to  her  On  the  other  hand,  if 
he  motored  to  Nice  he  would  no  doubt  be  arrested  on  the 
French  frontier  a  few  miles  along  the  Corniche  road. 

Inspector  Ogier  suspected  him,  hence  discretion  was 
the  better  part  of  valour.  So,  after  brief  consideration, 
he  threw  off  his  dress  clothes  and  assumed  a  suit  of  dark 
tweed.  He  put  his  money  and  a  few  articles  of  jewellry 
in  his  pockets,  and  getting  into  his  overcoat  he  slipped 
out  of  the  hotel  by  the  back  entrance  used  by  the  staff. 

Outside,  he  walked  in  the  darkness  along  the  Boule- 


FACING  THE  UNKNOWN  83 

vard  du  Nord,  past  the  Turbie  station,  until  he  came  to 
the  long  blank  wall  behind  which  lay  the  reservoir. 

At  the  kerb  he  saw  the  dim  red  rear-light  of  a  car, 
and  almost  at  the  same  moment  a  rough-looking  Italian 
chauffeur  approached  him. 

"Quick,  signore !"  he  whispered  excitedly.  "Every 
moment  is  full  of  danger.  There  is  a  warrant  out  for 
your  arrest !  The  police  know  that  you  intended  to  go 
to  Nice  and  they  are  watching  for  you  on  the  Corniche 
road.  But  we  will  try  to  get  into  Italy.  You  are  an 
invalid,  remember !  You'll  find  in  the  car  a  few  things 
with  which  you  can  make  up  to  look  the  part.  You  are 
an  American  subject  and  a  cripple,  who  cannot  leave 
the  car  when  the  customs  officers  search  it.  Now,  signore, 
let's  be  off  and  trust  to  our  good  fortune  in  getting  away. 
I  will  tell  the  officers  of  the  dogana  at  Ventimiglia  a  good 
story — trust  me !  I  haven't  been  smuggling  backwards 
and  forwards  for  ten  years  without  knowing  the  ropes !" 

"But  where  are  we  going?"  asked  Hugh  bewildered. 

"You,  signore,  are  going  to  prison  if  we  fail  on  this 
venture,  I  fear,"  was  the  rough-looking  driver's  reply. 

So  urged  by  him  Hugh  got  into  the  car,  and  then 
they  drove  swiftly  along  the  sea-road  of  the  littoral 
towards  the  rugged  Italian  frontier. 

Hugh  Henfrey  was  going  forth  to  face  the  unknown. 


SEVENTH  CHAPTER 

FROM    DARK    TO    DAWN 

In  the  darkness  the  car  went  swiftly  through  Mentone 
and  along  the  steep  winding  road  which  leads  around 
the  rugged  coast  close  to  the  sea — the  road  over  the 
yellow  rocks  which  Napoleon  made  into  Italy. 

Presently  they  began  to  ascend  a  hill,  a  lonely,  wind- 
swept highway  with  the  sea  plashing  deep  below,  when, 
after  a  sudden  bend,  some  lights  came  into  view.  It 
was  the  wayside  Italian  Customs  House. 

They  had  arrived  at  the  frontier. 

Hugh,  by  the  aid  of  a  flash-lamp,  had  put  on  a  grey 
moustache  and  changed  his  clothes,  putting  his  own  into 
the  suit  case  wherein  he  had  found  the  suit  already  pre- 
pared for  him.  He  had  wrapped  himself  up  in  a  heavy 
travelling-rug,  and  by  his  side  reposed  a  pair  of  crutches, 
so  that  when  they  drew  up  before  the  little  roadside  office 
of  the  Italian  dogana  he  was  reclining  upon  a  cushion 
presenting  quite  a  pathetic  figure. 

But  who  had  made  all  these  preparations  for  his  flight? 

He  held  his  breath  as  the  chauffeur  sounded  his  horn 
to  announce  his  arrival.  Then  the  door  opened,  shedding 
a  long  ray  of  light  across  the  white  dusty  road. 

"Buona  sera,  signore!"  cried  the  chauffeur  merrily, 
as  a  Customs  officer  in  uniform  came  forward.  "Here's 
my  driving  licence  and  papers  for  the  car.  And  our  two 
passports." 

The  man  took  them,  examined  them  by  the  light  of 

84 


FROM  DARK  TO  DAWN  85 

his  electric  torch,  and  told  the  chauffeur  to  go  into  the 
office  for  the  visas. 

"Have  you  anything  to  declare?"  he  added  in  Italian. 

"Half  a  dozen  very  bad  cigarettes,"  replied  the  other, 
laughing.  "They're  French !  And  also  I've  got  a  very 
bad  cold!    No  duty  on  that,  I  suppose?" 

The  officer  laughed,  and  then  turned  his  attention  to 
the  petrol  tank,  into  which  he  put  his  measuring  iron  to 
see  how  much  it  contained,  while  the  facetious  chauffeur 
stood  by. 

During  this  operation  two  other  men  came  out  of  the 
building,  one  an  Italian  carabineer  in  epaulettes  and 
cocked  hat,  while  the  other,  tall  and  shrewd-faced,  was  in 
mufti.  The  latter  was  the  agent  of  French  police  who 
inspects  all  travellers  leaving  France  by  road. 

The  chauffeur  realized  that  the  moment  was  a  critical 
one. 

He  was  rolling  a  cigarette  unconcernedly,  but  bend- 
ing to  the  Customs  officer,  he  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"My  padrone  is  an  Americano.  An  invalid,  and  a  bit 
eccentric.  Lots  of  money.  A  long  time  ago  he  injured 
his  spine  and  can  hardly  move.  He  fell  down  a  few  days 
ago,  and  now  I've  got  to  take  him  to  Professor  Landrini, 
in  Turin.  He's  pretty  bad.  We've  come  from  Hyeres. 
His  doctor  ordered  me  to  take  him  to  Turin  at  once.  We 
don't  want  any  delay.  He  told  me  to  give  you  this," 
and  he  slipped  a  note  for  a  hundred  lire  into  the  man's 
hand. 

The  officer  expressed  surprise,  but  the  merry  chauffeur 
of  the  rich  American  exclaimed : 

"Don't  worry.  The  Americano  is  very  rich ;  I  only 
wish  there  were  more  of  his  sort  about.  He's  the  great 
Headon,  the  meat-canner  of  Chicago.  You  see  his  name 
on  the  tins." 


86      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

The  man  recognized  the  name,  and  at  once  desisted  in 
his  examination. 

Then  to  the  two  police  officers  who  came  to  his  side, 
he  explained : 

"The  American  gentleman  inside  is  an  invalid,  going 
to  Turin  to  Professor  Landrini.  He  wants  to  get  off  at 
once,  for  he  has  a  long  journey  over  the  Alps." 

The  French  agent  of  police  grunted  suspiciously.  Both 
the  French  and  Italian  police  are  very  astute,  but  money 
always  talks.  It  is  the  same  at  a  far-remote  frontier 
station  as  in  any  circle  of  society. 

Here  was  a  well-known  American — the  Customs  officer 
had  mentioned  the  name  of  Headon,  which  both  police 
officers  recognized — an  invalid  sent  with  all  haste  to  the 
famous  surgeon  in  Turin.  It  was  not  likely  that  he  would 
be  carrying  contraband,  or  be  an  escaping  criminal. 

Besides,  the  chauffeur,  in  full  view  of  the  two  police 
agents,  slipped  a  second  note  into  the  hand  of  the  Cus- 
toms officer,  and  said : 

"So  all  is  well,  isn't  it,  signori?  Just  visa  my  papers, 
and  we'll  get  along.  It  looks  as  though  we're  to  have  a 
Dad  thunderstorm,  and,  if  so,  we  shall  catch  it  up  on  the 
Col  di  Tenda !" 

Thus  impelled,  the  quartette  went  back  to  the  well-lit 
little  building,  where  the  beetle-browed  driver  again 
chaffed  the  police-agents,  while  the  Customs  officer  placed 
his  rubber  stamp  upon  the  paper,  scribbled  his  initials 
and  charged  three-lire-twenty  as  fee. 

All  this  was  being  watched  with  breathless  anxiety  by 
the  supposed  invalid  reclining  against  his  cushion  with 
his  crutches  at  his  side. 

Again  the  mysterious  chauffeur  reappeared,  and  with 
him  the  French  police  officer  in  plain  clothes. 


FROM  DARK  TO  DAWN  87 

"We  are  keeping  watch  for  a  young  Englishman  from 
Monte  Carlo  who  has  shot  a  woman,"  remarked  the 
latter. 

"Oh !  But  they  arrested  him  to-night  in  Mentone," 
replied  the  driver.  "I  heard  it  half  an  hour  ago  as  I 
came  through." 

"Are  you  quite  sure?" 

"Well,  they  told  me  so  at  the  Garage  Grimaldi.  He 
shot  a  woman  known  as  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo — 
didn't  he?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  man !  But  they  have  not  informed  us 
yet.  I'll  telephone  to  Mentone."  Then  he  added :  "As  a 
formality  I'll  just  have  a  peep  at  your  master." 

The  chauffeur  held  his  breath. 

"He's  pretty  bad,  I  think.  I  hope  we  shall  be  in 
Turin  early  in  the  morning." 

Advancing  to  the  car,  the  police  officer  opened  the  door 
and  flashed  his  torch  upon  the  occupant. 

He  saw  a  pale,  elderly  man,  with  grey  moustache, 
wearing  a  golf  cape  and  reclining  uneasily  upon  the 
pillow,  with  his  leg  propped  up  and  wrapped  with  a 
heavy  travelling-rug.  Upon  the  white  countenance  was 
an  expression  of  pain  as  he  turned  wearily,  his  eyes  daz- 
zled by  the  sudden  light. 

"Where  are  we?"  he  asked  faintly  in  English. 

"At  the  Italian  douane,  m'sieur,"  was  the  police  officer's 
reply,  as  for  a  few  seconds  he  gazed  upon  the  invalid's 
face,  seconds  that  seemed  hours  to  Hugh.  He  was,  of 
course,  unaware  of  the  cock-and-bull  story  which  his 
strange  chauffeur  had  told,  and  feared  that  at  any  mo- 
ment he  might  find  himself  under  arrest. 

While  the  door  remained  open  there  was  danger.  At 
last,  however,  the  man  reclosed  it. 


88      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Hugh's  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  The  chauffeur  had 
restarted  the  engine,  and  mounting  to  the  wheel  shouted 
a  merry : 

"Buona  notte,  signori!" 

Then  the  car  moved  away  along  the  winding  road  and 
Hugh  knew  that  he  was  on  Italian  soil — that  he  had 
happily  escaped  from  France. 

But  why  had  he  escaped,  he  reflected?  He  was  inno- 
cent. Would  not  his  flight  lend  colour  to  the  theory  that 
Yvonne  Ferad  had  been  shot  by  his  hand  ? 

Again,  who  was  his  unknown  friend  who  had  warned 
him  of  his  peril  and  made  those  elaborate  arrangements 
for  his  escape?    Besides,  where  was  Walter? 

His  brain  was  awhirl.  As  they  tore  along  in  the 
darkness  ever  beside  the  sea  over  that  steep  and  dan- 
gerous road  along  the  rocky  coast,  Hugh  Henfrey  fell 
to  wondering  what  the  motive  of  it  all  could  be.  Why 
had  Yvonne  been  shot  just  at  that  critical  moment?  It 
was  evident  that  she  had  been  closely  watched  by  some- 
one to  whom  her  silence  meant  a  very  great  deal. 

She  had  told  him  that  his  father  had  been  a  good  man, 
and  she  was  on  the  point  of  disclosing  to  him  the  great 
secret  when  she  had  been  struck  down. 

What  was  the  mystery  of  it  all?    Ay,  what  indeed? 

He  recalled  every  incident  of  that  fateful  night,  her 
indignation  at  his  presence  in  her  house,  and  her  curious 
softening  of  manner  towards  him,  as  though  repentant 
and  ready  to  make  amends. 

Then  he  wondered  what  Dorise  would  think  when  he 
failed  to  put  in  an  appearance  to  go  with  her  to  the 
ball  at  Nice.  He  pictured  the  car  waiting  outside  the 
hotel,  Lady  Ranscomb  fidgeting  and  annoyed,  the  Count 
elegant  and  all  smiles  and  graces,  and  Dorise,  anxious 
and  eager,  going  to  the  telephone  and  speaking  to  the 


FROM  DARK  TO  DAWN  89 

concierge  at  the  Palmiers.  Then  inquiry  for  Monsieur 
Henfrey,  and  the  discovery  that  he  had  left  the  hotel  un- 
seen. 

So  far  Dorise  knew  nothing  of  Hugh's  part  in  the 
drama  of  the  Villa  Amette,  but  suddenly  he  was  hor- 
rified by  the  thought  that  the  police,  finding  he  had 
escaped,  would  question  her.  They  had  been  seen  to- 
gether many  times  in  Monte  Carlo,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
police  of  Monaco  are  always  very  wide  open.  They  know 
much,  but  are  usually  inactive.  When  one  recollects  that 
all  the  escrocs  of  Europe  gather  at  the  tapis  vert  in 
winter  and  spring,  it  is  not  surprising  that  they  close  their 
eyes  to  such  minor  crimes  as  theft,  blackmail  and  false 
pretences. 

In  his  excited  and  unnerved  state,  he  pictured  Ogier 
calling  upon  Lady  Ranscomb  and  questioning  her  closely 
concerning  her  young  English  friend  who  was  so  fre- 
quently seen  with  her  daughter.  That  would,  surely,  end 
their  friendship!  Lady  Ranscomb  would  never  allow 
her  daughter  to  associate  further  with  a  man  accused  of 
attempting  to  murder  a  notorious  woman  after  midnight ! 

The  car  presently  descended  the  steep  rocky  road 
which  wound  up  over  the  promontory  and  back  again 
down  to  the  sea,  until  they  passed  through  the  little 
frontier  town  of  Ventimiglia. 

It  was  late,  and  few  people  were  about  in  the  narrow, 
ill-lit  streets. 

Suddenly,  a  couple  of  Italian  carabineers  stopped  the 
car. 

Hugh's  heart  beat  quickly  again.  Had  they  at  the 
dogana  discovered  the  trick  and  telephoned  from  the 
frontier? 

Instantly  the  fugitive  reassumed  his  role  of  invalid, 
and  no  sooner  had  he  settled  himself  than  the  second 


9o      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

man  in  a  cocked  hat  and  heavy  black  cloak  opened  the 
door  and  peered  within. 

Another  lamp  was  flashed  upon  his  face. 

The  carabineer  asked  in  Italian : 

"What  is  your  name,  signore?" 

But  Hugh,  pretending  that  he  did  not  understand  the 
language,  asked : 

"Eh?     What?" 

"Here  are  our  passports,  signore,"  interrupted  the 
ever-ready  chauffeur,  and  he  produced  the  papers  for  the 
officer's  inspection. 

He  looked  at  them,  bending  to  read  them  by  the  light 
of  the  torch  which  his  companion  held. 

Then,  after  an  officious  gesture,  he  handed  them  back, 


saying : 


"Benissimo!    You  may  pass!" 

Again  Hugh  was  free !  Yet  he  wondered  if  that  ex- 
amination had  been  consequent  upon  the  hue  and  cry  set 
up  now  that  he  had  escaped  from  Monaco. 

They  passed  out  of  the  straggling  town  of  Ventimiglia, 
but  instead  of  turning  up  the  valley  by  that  long  road 
which  winds  up  over  the  Alps  until  it  reaches  the  snow 
and  then  passes  through  the  tunnel  on  the  Col  di  Tenda 
and  on  to  Cuneo  and  Turin,  the  mysterious  driver  kept 
on  by  the  sea-road  towards  Bordighera. 

Hugh  realized  that  his  guide's  intention  was  to  go 
in  the  direction  of  Genoa. 

About  two  miles  out  of  Ospedaletti,  on  the  road  to 
San  Remo,  Henfrey  rapped  at  the  window,  and  the  chauf- 
feur, who  was  travelling  at  high  speed,  pulled  up. 

Hugh  got  out  and  said  in  French : 

"Well,  so  far  we've  been  successful.  I  admire  your 
ingenuity  and  your  pluck." 

The  man  laughed  and  thanked  him. 


FROM  DARK  TO  DAWN  91 

"I  have  done  what  I  was  told  to  do,"  he  replied  simply. 
"Monsieur  is,  I  understand,  in  a  bit  of  a  scrape,  and  it  is 
for  all  of  us  to  assist  each  other — is  it  not?" 

"Of  course.  But  who  told  you  to  do  all  this?"  Hugh 
inquired,  standing  in  the  dark  road  beside  the  car.  The 
pair  could  not  see  each  other's  faces,  though  the  big  head- 
lights glared  far  ahead  over  the  white  road. 

"Well — a  friend  of  yours,  m'sieur." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Pardon,  I  am  not  allowed  to  say." 

"But  all  this  is  so  very  strange — so  utterly  mysterious  !" 
cried  Hugh.  "I  have  not  committed  any  crime,  and  yet 
I  am  hunted  by  the  police !  They  are  anxious  to  arrest 
me  for  an  offence  of  which  I  am  entirely  innocent." 

"I  know  that,  m'sieur,"  was  the  fellow's  reply.  "At 
the  dogana,  however,  we  had  a  narrow  escape.  The  man 
who  looked  at  you  was  Morain,  the  chief  inspector  of  the 
Surete  of  the  Alpes-Maritimes,  and  he  was  at  the  out- 
post especially  to  stop  you !" 

"Again  I  admire  your  perfect  nonchalance  and  in- 
genuity," Hugh  said.    "I  owe  my  liberty  entirely  to  you." 

"Not  liberty,  m'sieur.  We  are  not  yet  what  you  say  in 
English  'out  of  the  wood.'  " 

"Where  are  we  going  now?" 

"To  Genoa.  We  ought  to  be  there  by  early  morning," 
was  the  reply.  "Morain  has,  no  doubt,  telephoned  to 
Mentone  and  discovered  that  my  story  is  false.  So  if 
later  on,  they  suspect  the  American  invalid  they  will  be 
looking  out  for  him  on  the  Col  di  Tenda,  in  Cuneo,  and 
in  Turin." 

"And  what  shall  we  do  in  Genoa  ?" 

"Let  us  get  there  first — and  see." 

"But  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  who  you  are — and  why 
you  take  such  a  keen  interest  in  my  welfare,"  Hugh  said. 


92      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

The  man  gave  vent  to  an  irritating  laugh. 

"I  am  not  permitted  to  disclose  the  identity  of  your 
friend,"  he  answered.  "All  I  know  is  that  you  are 
innocent." 

"Then  perhaps  you  know  the  guilty  person?"  Hugh 
suggested. 

"Ah !  Let  us  talk  of  something  else,  signore,"  was  the 
mysterious  chauffeur's  reply. 

"But  I  confess  to  you  that  I  am  bent  upon  solving  the 
mystery  of  Mademoiselle's  assailant.  It  means  a  very 
great  deal  to  me." 

"How?"   asked   the   man. 

Hugh  hesitated. 

"Well,"  he  replied.  "If  the  culprit  is  found,  then  there 
would  no  longer  be  any  suspicion  against  myself." 

"Probably  he  never  will  be  found,"  the  man  said. 

"But  tell  me,  how  did  you  know  about  the  affair,  and 
why  are  you  risking  arrest  by  driving  me  to-night?" 

"I  have  reasons,"  was  all  he  would  say.  "I  obey  the 
demands  of  those  who  are  your  friends." 

"Who  are  they?" 

"They  desire  to  conceal  their  identity.  There  is  a 
strong  reason  why  this  should  be  done." 

"Why?" 

"Are  they  not  protecting  one  who  is  suspected  of  a 
serious  crime?  If  discovered  they  would  be  punished," 
was  the  quiet  response. 

"Ah!  There  is  some  hidden  motive  behind  all  this!" 
declared  the  young  Englishman.  "I  rather  regret  that  I 
did  not  remain  and  face  the  music." 

"It  would  have  been  far  too  dangerous,  signore.  Your 
enemies   would   have   contrived   to   convict  you   of   the 


crime." 


"My  enemies — but  who  are  they?' 


FROM  DARK  TO  DAWN  93 

"Of  that,  signore,  I  am  ignorant.  Only  I  have  been 
told  that  you  have  enemies,  and  very  bitter  ones." 

"But  I  have  committed  no  crime,  and  yet  I  am  a  fugi- 
tive from  justice!"  Hugh  cried. 

"You  escaped  in  the  very  nick  of  time,"  the  man  re- 
plied. "But  had  we  not  better  be  moving  again?  We 
must  be  in  Genoa  by  daybreak." 

"But  do,  I  beg  of  you,  tell  me  more,"  the  young  man 
implored.    "To  whom  do  I  owe  my  liberty?" 

"As  I  have  already  told  you,  signore,  you  owe  it  to 
those  who  intend  to  protect  you  from  a  false  charge." 

"Yes.  But  there  is  a  lady  in  the  case,"  Hugh  said. 
"I  fear  that  if  she  hears  that  I  am  a  fugitive  she  will 
misjudge  me  and  believe  me  to  be  guilty." 

"Probably  so.  That  is,  I  admit,  unfortunate — but, 
alas !  it  cannot  be  avoided.  It  was,  however,  better  for 
you  to  get  out  of  France." 

"But  the  French  police,  when  they  know  that  I  have 
escaped,  will  probably  ask  the  Italian  police  to  arrest 
me,  and  then  apply  for  my  extradition." 

"If  they  did,  I  doubt  whether  you  would  be  surren- 
dered. The  police  of  my  country  are  not  too  fond  of 
assisting  those  of  other  countries.  Thus  if  an  Italian 
commits  murder  in  a  foreign  country  and  gets  back  to 
Italy,  our  Government  will  refuse  to  give  him  up.  There 
have  been  many  such  cases,  and  the  murderer  goes  scot- 
free." 

"Then  you  think  I  am  safe  in  Italy?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  by  any  means.  You  are  not  an  Italian 
subject.     No,  you  must  not  be  very  long  in  Italy." 

"But  what  am  I  to  do  when  we  get  to  Genoa?"  Hugh 
asked. 

"The  signore  had  better  wait  until  we  arrive  there," 
was  the  driver's  enigmatical  reply. 


94      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Then  the  supposed  invalid  re-entered  the  car  and  they 
continued  on  their  way  along  the  bleak,  storm-swept 
road  beside  the  sea  towards  that  favourite  resort  of  the 
English,  San  Remo. 

The  night  had  grown  pitch  dark,  and  rain  had  com- 
menced to  fall.  Before  the  car  the  great  head-lamps 
threw  long  beams  of  white  light  against  which  Hugh 
saw  the  silhouette  of  the  muffled-up  mysterious  driver, 
with  his  keen  eyes  fixed  straight  before  him,  and  driving 
at  such  a  pace  that  it  was  apparent  that  he  knew  every 
inch  of  that  dangerous  road. 

What  could  it  all  mean  ?    What,  indeed  ? 


EIGHTH  CHAPTER 

THE    WHITE    CAVALIER 

While  Hugh  Henfrey  was  travelling  along  that  wind- 
ing road  over  high  headlands  and  down  steep  gradients 
to  the  sea  which  stretched  the  whole  length  of  the  Italian 
Riviera,  Dorise  Ranscomb  in  a  white  silk  domino  and 
black  velvet  mask  was  pretending  to  enjoy  herself  amid 
the  mad  gaiety  at  the  Casino  in  Nice. 

The  great  bal  blanc  is  always  one  of  the  most  important 
events  of  the  Nice  season,  and  everyone  of  note  winter- 
ing on  the  Riviera  was  there,  yet  all  carefully  masked, 
both  men  and  women. 

"I  wonder  what  prevented  Hugh  from  coming  with 
us,  mother?"  the  girl  remarked  as  she  sat  with  Lady 
Ranscomb  watching  the  merriment  and  the  throwing  of 
serpentines  and  confetti. 

"I  don't  know.  He  certainly  ought  to  have  let  me 
know,  and  not  have  kept  me  waiting  nearly  half  an  hour, 
as  he  did,"  her  mother  snapped. 

The  girl  did  not  reply.  The  truth  was  that  while  her 
mother  and  the  Count  had  been  waiting  for  Hugh's 
appearance,  she  had  gone  to  the  telephone  and  inquired 
for  Mr.  Henfrey.     Walter  Brock  had  spoken  to  her. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry.  Miss  Ranscomb,"  he  had  replied. 
"But  I  don't  know  where  Hugh  can  be.  I've  just  been  up 
to  his  room,  but  his  fancy  dress  is  there,  flung  down  as 
though  he  had  suddenly  discarded  it  and  gone  out.  No- 
body noticed  him  leave.    The  page  at  the  door  is  certain 

95 


96      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

that  he  did  not  go  out.    So  he  must  have  left  by  the  staff 
entrance." 

"That's  very  curious,  isn't  it?"  Dorise  remarked. 

"Very.     I  can't  understand  it." 

"But  he  promised  to  go  with  us  to  the  ball  at  Nice 

to-night !" 

"Well,  Miss  Ranscomb,  all  I  can  think  is  that  some- 
thing— something  very  important  must  have  detained  him 
somewhere." 

Walter  knew  that  his  friend  was  suspected  by  the 
police,  but  dared  not  tell  her  the  truth.  Hugh's  dis- 
appearance had  caused  him  considerable  anxiety  because, 
for  aught  he  knew,  he  might  already  be  arrested. 

So  Dorise,  much  perplexed,  but  resolving  not  to  say 
to  her  mother  that  she  had  telephoned  to  the  Palmiers, 
rejoined  the  Count  in  the  hotel  lounge,  where  they  waited 
a  further  ten  minutes.  Then  they  entered  the  car  and 
drove  along  to  Nice. 

There  are  few  merrier  gatherings  in  all  Europe  than 
the  bal  blanc.  The  Municipal  Casino,  at  all  times  the 
centre  of  revelry,  of  mild  gambling,  smart  dresses  and 
gay  suppers,  is  on  that  night  an  amazing  spectacle  of 
black  and  white.  The  carnival  colours — the  two  shades 
of  colour  chosen  yearly  by  the  International  Fetes  Com- 
mittee— are  abandoned,  anl  only  white  is  worn. 

When  the  trio  entered  the  fun  was  already  in  full 
swing.  The  gay  crowd  disguised  by  their  masks  and 
fancy  costumes  were  revelling  as  happily  as  school  chil- 
dren. A  party  of  girls  dressed  as  clowns  were  playing 
leap-frog.  Another  party  were  dancing  in  a  great  and 
ever-widening  ring.  Girls  armed  with  jesters'  bladders 
were  being  carried  high  on  the  shoulders  of  their  male 
acquaintances,  and  striking  all  and  sundry  as  they  passed, 
staid,  elderly  folk  were  performing  grotesque  antics  for 


THE  WHITE  CAVALIER  97 

persons  of  their  age.  The  very  air  of  the  Riviera  seems 
to  be  exhilarating  to  both  old  and  young,  and  the  con- 
stant church-goers  at  home  quickly  become  infected  by 
the  spirit  of  gaiety,  and  conduct  themselves  on  the  Con- 
tinental Sabbath  in  a  manner  which  would  horribly  dis- 
gust their  particular  vicar. 

"Hugh  must  have  been  detained  by  something  very 
unexpected,  mother,"  Dorise  said.  "He  never  disap- 
points us." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  does.  One  night  we  were  going  to  the 
Embassy  Club — don't  you  recollect  it — and  he  never 
turned  up." 

"Oh,  well,  mother.  It  was  really  excusable.  His 
cousin  arrived  from  New  York  quite  unexpectedly  upon 
some  family  business.  He  'phoned  to  you  and  explained," 
said  the  girl. 

"Well,  what  about  that  night  when  I  asked  him  to 
dinner  at  the  Ritz  to  meet  the  Courtenays  and  he  rang  up 
to  say  he  was  not  well  ?  Yet  I  saw  him  hale  and  hearty 
next  day  at  a  matinee  at  the  Comedy." 

"He  may  have  been  indisposed,  mother,"  Dorise  said. 
"Really  I  think  you  judge  him  just  a  little  too  harshly." 

"I  don't.  I  take  people  as  I  find  them.  Your  father 
always  said  that,  and  he  was  no  fool,  my  dear.  He  made 
a  fortune  by  his  cleverness,  and  we  now  enjoy  it.  Never 
associate  with  unsuccessful  persons.     It's  fatal !" 

"That's  just  what  old  Sir  Dudley  Ash,  the  steel  mil- 
lionaire, told  me  the  other  day  when  we  were  over  at 
Cannes,  mother.  Never  associate  with  the  unlucky. 
Rad  luck,  he  says,  is  a  contagious  malady." 

"And  I  believe  it — I  firmly  believe  it,"  declared  Lady 
Ranscomb.  "Your  poor  father  pointed  it  out  to  me  long 
ago,  and  I  find  that  what  he  said  is  too  true." 

"But  we  can't  all  be  lucky,  mother,"   said  the  girl, 


98      MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

watching  the  revelry  before  her  blankly  as  she  reflected 
upon  the  mystery  of  Hugh's  abseace. 

"No.  But  we  can,  nevertheless,  be  rich,  if  we  look 
always  to  the  main  chance  and  make  the  best  of  our  op- 
portunities," her  mother  said  meaningly. 

At  that  moment  the  Count  d'Autun  approached  them. 
He  was  dressed  as  a  pierrot,  but  being  masked  was  only 
recognizable  by  the  fine  ruby  ring  upon  his  finger. 

"Will  mademoiselle  do  me  the  honour?"  he  said  in 
French,  bowing  elegantly.  "They  are  dancing  in  the 
theatre.     Will  you  come,  Mademoiselle  Dorise?" 

"Delighted,"  she  said,  with  an  inward  sigh,  for  the 
dressed-up  Parisian  always  bored  her.  She  rose  quickly, 
and  promising  her  mother  to  be  back  soon,  she  linked  her 
arm  in  that  of  the  notorious  gambler  and  passed  through 
the  great  palm-court  into  the  theatre. 

Then,  a  few  moments  later,  she  found  herself  carried 
around  amid  the  mad  crowd  of  revellers,  who  laughed 
merrily  as  the  coloured  serpentines  thrown  from  the 
boxes  fell  upon  them. 

To  lift  one's  loup  was  a  breach  of  etiquette.  Every- 
one was  closely  masked.  British  members  of  Parliament, 
French  senators,  Italian  members  of  the  Camera,  Spanish 
grandees  and  Russian  princes,  all  with  their  womenfolk, 
hob-nobbed  with  cocottes,  escrocs,  and  the  most  notorious 
adventurers  and  adventuresses  in  all  Europe.  Truly,  it 
was  a  never-to-be-forgotten  scene  of  cosmopolitan  fun. 

The  Count,  who  was  a  bad  dancer,  collided  with  a 
slim,  well-dressed  French  girl,  but  did  not  apologize. 

"Oh !  la  la !"  cried  the  girl  to  her  partner,  a  stout 
figure  in  Mephistophelian  garb.  "An  exquisitely  polite 
gentleman  that,  mon  cher  Alphonse !  I  believe  he  must 
really  be  the  Pork  King  from  Chicago — eh?" 

The  Count  heard  it,  and  was  furious.     Dorise,  how- 


THE  WHITE  CAVALIER  99 

ever,  said  nothing.  She  was  thinking  of  Hugh's  strange 
disappearance,  and  how  he  had  broken  his  word  to  her. 

Meanwhile,  Lady  Ranscomb,  secretly  very  glad  that 
Hugh  had  been  prevented  from  accompanying  them,  and 
centring  all  her  hopes  upon  her  daughter's  marriage  with 
George  Sherrard,  sat  chattering  with  a  Mrs.  Down, 
the  fat  wife  of  a  war-profiteer,  whose  acquaintance  she 
had  made  in  Paris  six  months  before. 

Dorise  made  pretence  of  enjoying  the  dance  though 
eager  to  get  back  again  to  Monte  Carlo  in  order  to  learn 
the  reason  of  her  lover's  absence.  She  was  devoted  to 
Hugh.     He  was  all  in  all  to  her. 

She  danced  with  several  partners,  having  first  made  a 
rendezvous  with  her  mother  at  midnight  at  a  certain 
spot  under  one  of  the  great  palms  in  the  promenade.  At 
masked  balls  the  chaperon  is  useless,  and  everyone,  being 
masked,  looks  so  much  alike  that  mistakes  are  easy. 

About  half -past  one  o'clock  a  big  motor-car  drew  up  in 
the  Place  before  the  Casino,  and  a  tall  man  in  a  white 
fancy  dress  of  a  cavalier,  with  wide-brimmed  hat  and 
swaggering  plume,  stepped  from  it  and,  presenting  his 
ticket,  passed  at  once  into  the  crowded  ball-room.  For 
a  full  ten  minutes  he  stood  watching  the  crowd  of  revellers 
intently,  eyeing  each  of  them  keenly,  though  the  expres- 
sion on  his  countenance  was  hidden  by  the  strip  of  black 
velvet. 

His  eyes,  shining  through  the  slits  in  the  mask,  were, 
however,  dark  and  brilliant.  In  them  could  be  seen 
alertness  and  eagerness,  for  it  was  apparent  that  he  had 
come  there  hot-foot  in  search  of  someone.  In  any  case 
he  had  a  difficult  task,  for  in  the  whirling,  laughing, 
chattering  crowd  each  person  resembled  the  other  save 
for  their  feet  and  their  stature. 

It  was  the  feet  of  the  dancers  that  the  tall  masked 


ioo    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

man  was  watching.  He  stood  in  the  crowd  near  the  door- 
way with  his  hand  upon  his  sword-hilt,  a  striking  figure 
remarked  by  many.  His  large  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
shoes  of  the  dancers,  until,  of  a  sudden,  he  seemed  to 
discover  that  for  which  he  was  in  search,  and  made  his 
way  quickly  after  a  pair  who,  having  finished  a  dance, 
were  walking  in  the  direction  of  the  great  hall. 

The  stranger  never  took  his  eyes  off  the  pair.  The 
man  was  slightly  taller  than  the  woman,  and  the  latter 
wore  upon  her  white  kid  shoes  a  pair  of  old  paste  buckles. 
It  was  for  those  buckles  that  he  had  been  searching. 

"Yes,"  he  muttered  in  English  beneath  his  breath. 
"That's  she— without  a  doubt !" 

He  drew  back  to  near  where  the  pair  had  halted  and 
were  laughing  together.  The  girl  with  the  glittering 
buckles  upon  her  shoes  was  Dorise  Ranscomb.  The  man 
with  her  was  the  Count  d'Autun. 

The  white  cavalier  pretended  to  take  no  interest  in 
them,  but  was,  nevertheless,  watching  intently.  At  last 
he  saw  the  girl's  partner  bow,  and  leaving  her,  he  crossed 
to  greet  a  stout  Frenchwoman  in  a  plain  domino.  In  a 
moment  the  cavalier  was  at  the  girl's  side. 

"Please  do  not  betray  surprise,  Miss  Ranscomb,"  he 
said  in  a  low,  refined  voice.  "We  may  be  watched.  But 
I  have  a  message  for  you." 

"For  me?"  she  asked,  peering  through  her  mask  at 
the  man  in  the  plumed  hat. 

"Yes.  But  I  cannot  speak  to  you  here.  It  is  too 
public.     Besides,  your  mother  yonder  may  notice  us." 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  the  girl,  naturally  curious. 

"Do  not  let  us  talk  here.  See,  right  over  yonder  in 
the  corner  behind  where  they  are  dancing  in  a  ring — 
under  the  balcony.  Let  us  meet  there  at  once.  Au 
revoir." 


THE  WHITE  CAVALIER  101 

And  he  left  her. 

Three  minutes  later  they  met  again  out  of  sight  of 
Lady  Ranscomh,  who  was  still  sitting  at  one  of  the 
little  wicker  tables  talking  to  three  other  women. 

"Tell  me,  who  are  you?"  Dorise  inquired. 

The  white  cavalier  laughed. 

"I'm  Mr.  X."  was  his  reply. 

"Mr.  X?    Who's  that?" 

"Myself.  But  my  name  matters  nothing,  Miss  Rans- 
comb."  he  said.  "I  have  come  here  to  give  you  a  con- 
fidential message." 

"Why  confidential — and  from  whom?"  she  asked, 
standing  against  the  wall  and  surveying  the  mysterious 
masker. 

"From  a  gentleman  friend  of  yours — Mr.  Henfrey." 

"From  Hugh?"  she  gasped.     "Do  you  know  him?" 

"Yes." 

"I  expected  him  to  come  with  us  to-night,  but  he  has 
vanished  from  his  hotel." 

"I  know.    That  is  why  I  am  here."  was  the  reply. 

There  was  a  note  in  the  stranger's  voice  which  struck 
her  as  somehow  familiar,  but  she  failed  to  recognize  the 
individual.  She  was  as  quick  at  remembering  voices  as 
she  was  at  recollecting  faces.  Who  could  he  be,  she 
wondered  ? 

"You  said  you  had  a  message  for  me,"  she  remarked. 

"Yes."  he  replied.  "I  am  here  to  tell  you  that  a  serious 
contretemps  has  occurred,  and  that  Mr.  Henfrey  has 
escaped  from  France." 

"Escaped!"  she  echoed.    "Why?" 

"Because  the  police  suspect  him  of  a  crime." 

"Crime!  What  crime?  Surely  he  is  innocent?"  she 
cried. 

"He  certainly  is.    His  friends  know  that.     Therefore, 


102    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Miss  Ranscomb,  I  beg  of  you  to  betray  no  undue  anxiety 
even  if  you  do  not  hear  from  him  for  many  weeks." 

"But  will  he  not  write  to  me?"  she  asked  in  despair. 
"Surely  he  will  not  keep  me  in  suspense?" 

"He  will  not  if  he  can  avoid  it.  But  as  soon  as  the 
French  police  realize  that  he  has  got  away  a  watch  will 
be  kept  upon  his  correspondence."  Then,  lowering  his 
voice,  he  urged  her  to  move  away,  as  he  thought  that  an 
idling  masker  was  trying  to  overhear  their  conversation. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on  a  few  moments  later,  "it  might 
be  dangerous  if  he  were  to  write  to  you." 

Dorise  was  thinking  of  what  her  mother  would  say 
when  the  truth  reached  her  ears.    Hugh  was  a  fugitive! 

"Of  what  crime  is  he  suspected?"  asked  the  girl. 

"I — well,  I  don't  exactly  know,"  was  the  stranger's 
faltering  response.  "I  was  told  by  a  friend  of  his  that 
it  was  a  serious  one,  and  that  he  might  find  it  extremely 
difficult  to  prove  himself  innocent.  The  circumstantial 
evidence  against  him  is  very  strong." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  is  now?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  All  I  know  is  that  he  is  safely 
across  the  frontier  into  Italy,"  was  the  reply  of  the  tall 
white  cavalier. 

"I  wish  I  could  see  your  face,"  declared  Dorise 
frankly. 

"And  I  might  express  a  similar  desire,  Miss  Ranscomb. 
But  for  the  present  it  is  best  as  it  is.  I  have  sought 
you  here  to  tell  you  the  truth  in  secret,  and  to  urge  you 
to  remain  calm  and  patient." 

"Is  that  a  message  from  Hugh?" 

"No — not  exactly.  It  is  a  message  from  one  who  is  his 
friend." 

"You  are  very  mysterious,"  she  declared.    "If  you  do 


THE  WHITE  CAVALIER  103 

not  know  where  he  is  at  the  moment,  perhaps  you  know 
where  we  can  find  him  later." 

"Yes.  He  is  making  his  way  to  Brussels.  A  letter 
addressed  to  Mr.  Godfrey  Brown,  Poste  Restante,  Brus- 
sels, will  eventually  find  him.  Recollect  the  name,"  he 
added.  "Disguise  your  handwriting  on  the  envelope, 
and  when  you  post  it  see  that  you  are  not  observed. 
Recollect  that  his  safety  lies  in  your  hands." 

"Trust  me,"  she  said.  "But  do  let  me  know  your 
name,"  she  implored. 

"Any  old  name  is  good  enough  for  me,"  he  replied. 
"Call  me  Mr.  X." 

"Don't  mystify  me  further,  please." 

"Well,  call  me  Smith,  Jones,  Robinson — whatever  you 
like." 

"Then  you  refuse  to  satisfy  my  curiosity — eh?" 

"I  regret  that  I  am  compelled  to  do  so — for  certain 
reasons." 

"Are  you  a  detective?"  Dorise  suddenly  inquired. 

The  stranger  laughed. 

"If  I  were  a  police  officer  I  should  scarcely  act  as  an 
intermediary  between  Mr.  Henfrey  and  yourself,  Miss 
Ranscomb." 

"But  you  say  he  is  innocent.  Are  you  certain  of 
that?  May  I  set  my  mind  at  rest  that  he  never  com- 
mitted this  crime  of  which  the  police  suspect  him?"  she 
asked  eagerly. 

"Yes.  I  repeat  that  he  is  entirely  innocent,"  was  the 
earnest  response.  "But  I  would  advise  you  to  affect 
ignorance.  The  police  may  question  you.  If  they  do, 
you  know  nothing,  remember — absolutely  nothing.  If 
you  write  to  Mr.  Henfrey,  take  every  precaution  that 
nobody  sees  you  post  the  letter.    Give  him  a  secret  ad- 


104    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

dress  in  London,  or  anywhere  in  England,  so  that  he  can 
write  to  you  there." 

"But  how  long  will  it  be  before  I  can  see  him  again?" 

"Ah !  That  I  cannot  tell.  There  is  a  mystery  under- 
lying it  all  that  even  I  cannot  fathom,  Miss  Ranscomb." 

"What  kind  of  mystery?" 

The  white  cavalier  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  must  ask  Mr.  Henfrey.  Or  perhaps  his  friend 
Brock  knows.  Yet  if  he  does,  I  do  not  suppose  he  would 
disclose  anything  his  friend  may  have  told  him  in  con- 
fidence." 

"I  am  bewildered !"  the  girl  declared.  "It  is  all  so  very 
mysterious — Hugh  a  fugitive  from  justice !  I— I  really 
cannot  believe  it!     What  can  the  mystery  be?" 

"Of  that  I  have  no  means  of  ascertaining,  Miss 
Ranscomb.  I  am  here  merely  to  tell  you  what  has  hap- 
pened and  to  give  you  in  secret  the  name  and  address  to 
which  to  send  a  letter  to  him,"  the  masked  man  said  very 
politely.  "And  now  I  think  we  must  part.  Perhaps  if 
ever  we  meet  again — which  is  scarcely  probable — you 
will  recognize  my  voice.  And  always  recollect  that 
should  you  or  Mr.  Henfrey  ever  receive  a  message  from 
'Silverado'  it  will  be  from  myself."  And  he  spelt  the 
name. 

"Silverado.  Yes,  I  shall  not  forget  you,  my  mysterious 
friend." 

"Au  revoir!"  he  said  as,  bowing  gracefully,  he  turned 
and  left  her. 

The  sun  was  rising  from  the  sea  when  Dorise  entered 
her  bedroom  at  the  hotel.  Her  maid  had  retired,  so  she 
undressed  herself,  and  putting  on  a  dressing-gown,  she 
pulled  up  the  blinds  and  sat  down  to  write  a  letter  to 
Hugh. 


THE  WHITE  CAVALIER  105 

She  could  not  sleep  before  she  had  sent  him  a  reassur- 
ing message. 

In  the  frenzy  of  her  despair  she  wrote  one  letter  and 
addressed  it,  but  having  done  so  she  changed  her  mind. 
It  was  not  sufficiently  reassuring,  she  decided.  It  con- 
tained an  element  of  doubt.  Therefore  she  tore  it  up 
and  wrote  a  second  one  which  she  locked  safely  in  her 
jewel  case,  and  then  pulled  the  blinds  and  retired. 

It  was  nearly  noon  next  day  before  she  left  her  room, 
yet  almost  as  soon  as  she  had  descended  in  the  lift  the 
head  femme  de  chambre,  a  stout  Frenchwoman  in  a 
frilled  cap,  entered  the  room  and  walking  straight  to 
the  waste-paper  basket  gathered  up  its  contents  into  her 
apron  and  went  back  along  the  corridor  with  an  expres- 
sion of  satisfaction  upon  her  full  round  face. 


NINTH  CHAPTER 

CONCERNS  THE  SPARROW 

With  the  rosy  dawn  rising  behind  them  the  big  dusty 
car  tore  along  over  the  white  road  which  led  through 
Pegli  and  Cornigliano,  with  their  wealth  of  olives  and 
palms,  into  the  industrial  suburbs  of  old-world  Genoa. 
Then,  passing  around  by  the  port,  the  driver  turned  the 
car  up  past  the  Palazzo  Doria  and  along  that  street  of 
fifteenth-century  palaces,  the  Via  Garibaldi,  into  the  little 
piazza  in  front  of  the  Annunziata  Church. 

There  he  pulled  up  after  a  run  of  two  hours  from  the 
last  of  the  many  railway  crossings,  most  of  which  they 
had  found  closed. 

When  Hugh  got  out,  the  mysterious  man,  whose  face 
was  more  forbidding  in  the  light  of  day,  exclaimed : 

"Here  I  must  leave  you  very  shortly,  signore.  But  first 
I  have  certain  instructions  to  give  you,  namely,  that  you 
remain  for  the  present  in  a  house  in  the  Via  della  Mad- 
dalena  to  which  I  shall  take  you.  The  man  and  the 
woman  there  you  can  trust.  It  will  be  as  well  not  to 
walk  about  in  the  daytime.  Remain  here  for  a  fort- 
night, and  then  by  the  best  means,  without,  of  course,  re- 
entering France,  you  must  get  to  Brussels.  There  you 
will  receive  letters  at  the  Poste  Restante  in  the  name  oi 
Godfrey  Brown.  That,  indeed,  is  the  name  you  will  use 
here."  * 

"Well,  all  this  is  very  strange!"  remarked  Hugh,  ut- 
terly bewildered  as  he  glanced  at  the  forbidding-looking 
chauffeur  and  the  dust-covered  car. 

106 


CONCERNS  THE  SPARROW  107 

"I  agree,  signore,"  the  man  laughed.  "But  get  in  again 
and  I  will  drive  to  the  Via  della  Maddalena." 

Five  minutes  later  the  car  pulled  up  at  the  end  of  a 
narrow  stuffy  ancient  street  of  high  houses  with  closed 
wooden  shutters.  From  house  to  house  across  the  road 
household  linen  was  flying  in  the  wind,  for  the  neighbour- 
hood was  certainly  a  poverty-stricken  one. 

The  place  did  not  appeal  to  Hugh  in  the  least.  He, 
however,  recollected  that  he  was  about  to  hide  from  the 
police.  Italians  are  early  risers,  and  though  it  was  only 
just  after  dawn,  Genoa  was  already  agog  with  life  and 
movement. 

Leaving  the  car,  the  mysterious  chauffeur  conducted 
the  young  Englishman  along  the  street,  where  women 
were  calling  to  each  other  from  the  windows  of  their 
apartments  and  exchanging  salutations,  until  they  came 
to  an  entrance  over  which  there  was  an  old  blue  majolica 
Madonna.  The  house  had  no  outer  door,  but  at  the 
end  of  the  passage  was  a  flight  of  stone  steps  leading  up 
to  the  five  storeys  above. 

At  the  third  flight  Hugh's  conductor  paused,  and  find- 
ing a  piece  of  cord  protruding  from  a  hole  in  a  door, 
pulled  it.  A  slight  tinkle  was  heard  within,  and  a  few 
moments  later  the  sound  of  wooden  shoes  was  heard  upon 
the  tiles  inside. 

The  door  opened,  revealing  an  ugly  old  woman  whose 
face  was  sallow  and  wrinkled,  and  who  wore  a  red  ker- 
chief tied  over  her  white  hair. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  the  chauffeur  she  welcomed  him, 
addressing  him  as  Paolo,  and  invited  them  in. 

"This  is  the  English  signore,"  explained  the  man. 
"He  has  come  to  stay  with  you." 

"The  signore  is  welcome,"  replied  the  old  woman  as 
she  clattered   into  the   narrow,   cheaply    furnished   little 


io8    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

sitting-room,  which  was  in  half  darkness  owing  to  the 
persiennes  being  closed. 

Truly,  it  was  an  uninviting  place,  which  smelt  of  garlic 
and  of  the  paraffin  oil  with  which  the  tiled  floors  had  been 

rubbed. 

"You  will  require  another  certificate  of  identity,  sig- 
nore,"  said  the  man,  who  admitted  that  he  had  been  en- 
gaged in  smuggling  contraband  across  the  Alps.  And 
delving  into  his  pocket  he  produced  an  American  pass- 
port. It  was  blank,  though  the  embossed  stamp  of  the 
United  States  Government  was  upon  it.  The  places 
were  ready  for  the  photograph  and  signature.  With  it 
the  man  handed  him  a  large  metal  disc,  saying: 

"When  you  have  your  picture  taken  and  affixed  to  it, 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  damp  the  paper  slightly  and  im- 
press this  stamp.    It  will  then  defy  detection." 

"Where  on  earth  did  you  get  this  from  ?"  asked  Hugh, 
noticing  that  it  was  a  replica  of  the  United  States  con- 
sular seal. 

The  man  smiled,  replying: 

"They  make  passports  of  all  countries  in  Spain.  You 
pay  for  them,  and  you  can  get  them  by  the  dozen.  The 
embossing  stamps  are  extra.  There  is  a  big  trade  in  them 
now  owing  to  the  passport  restrictions.  Besides,  in  every 
country  there  are  passport  officers  who  are  amenable  to 
a  little  baksheesh!"     And  he  grinned. 

What  he  said  was  true.  At  no  period  has  it  ever  been 
more  easy  for  a  criminal  to  escape  than  it  is  to-day,  pro- 
viding, of  course,  that  he  is  a  cosmopolitan  and  has 
money. 

Hugh  took  the  passport  and  the  disc,  asking: 

"How  am  I  to  repay  you  for  all  this  ?" 

"I  want  no  payment,  signore.    All  I  ask  you  is  to  con- 

! 


CONCERNS  THE  SPARROW  109 

form  to  the  suggestions  of  the  worthy  S ignore  Ravecca 
and  his  good  wife  here.  You  are  not  the  first  guest  they 
have  had  for  whom  the  police  searched  in  vain." 

"No,"  laughed  the  old  woman.  "Do  you  recollect  the 
syndic  of  Porticello,  how  we  had  him  here  for  nearly 
three  years,  and  then  he  got  safely  away  to  Argentina  and 
took  the  money,  three  million  lire,  with  him?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  man's  reply.  "I  recollect  it,  signora. 
But  the  Signore  Inglese  must  be  very  careful — very 
careful.  He  must  never  go  out  in  the  daytime.  You 
can  buy  him  English  papers  and  books  of  Luccoli,  in  the 
Via  Bosco.    They  will  serve  to  while  away  the  time." 

"I  shall,  no  doubt,  pass  the  time  very  pleasantly," 
laughed  Hugh,  speaking  in  French. 

Then  the  old  crone  left  them  and  returned  with  two 
cups  of  excellent  cafe  ncro,  that  coffee  which,  roasted  at 
home,  one  can  get  only  in  Italy. 

It  was  indeed  refreshing  after  that  long  night  drive. 

Hugh  stood  there  without  luggage,  and  with  only  about 
thirty  pounds  in  his  pocket. 

Suddenly  the  man  who  had  driven  him  looked  him 
curiously  in  the  face,  and  said : 

"Ah!  I  know  you  are  wondering  what  your  lady 
friend  in  Monte  Carlo  will  think.  Well,  I  can  tell  you 
this.  She  already  knows  that  you  have  escaped,  and  she 
has  been  told  to  write  to  you  in  secret  at  the  Poste 
Restante  at  Brussels." 

Hugh  started. 

"Who  has  told  her?  Surely  she  knows  nothing  of  the 
affair  at  the  Villa  Amette?" 

"She  will  not  be  told  that.  But  she  has  been  told  that 
you  are  going  to  Brussels,  and  that  in  future  your  name 
is  Monsieur  Godfrey  Brown." 


no    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"But  why  have  all  these  elaborate  arrangements  been 
made  for  my  security?"  Hugh  demanded,  more  than 
ever  nonplussed. 

"It  is  useless  to  take  one  precaution  unless  the  whole 
are  taken,"  laughed  the  sphinx-like  fellow  whose  cheer- 
ful banter  had  so  successfully  passed  them  through  the 
customs  barrier. 

Then,  swallowing  his  coffee,  he  wished  Hugh  "buon 
viaggio"  and  was  about  to  depart,  when  Hugh  said : 

"Look  here.  Is  it  quite  impossible  for  you  to  give 
me  any  inkling  concerning  this  astounding  affair?  I 
know  that  some  unknown  friend,  or  friends,  are  looking 
after  my  welfare.  But  why?  To  whom  am  I  indebted 
for  all  this?  Who  has  warned  Miss  Ranscomb  and  told 
her  of  my  alias  and  my  journey  to  Brussels?" 

"A  friend  of  hers  and  of  yourself,"  was  the  chauf- 
feur's reply.  "No,  please  do  not  question  me,  signore," 
he  added.  "I  have  done  my  best  for  you.  And  now  my 
journey  is  at  an  end,  while  yours  is  only  beginning. 
Pardon  me — but  you  have  money  with  you,  I  suppose? 
If  you  have  not,  these  good  people  here  will  trust  you." 

"But  what  is  this  house  ?" 

The  man  laughed.    Then  he  said : 

"Well,  really  it  is  a  bolt-hole  used  by  those  who  wish 
to  evade  our  very  astute  police.  If  one  conforms  to  the 
rules  of  Signora  Ravecca  and  her  husband,  then  one  is 
quite  safe  and  most  comfortable." 

Hugh  realized  that  he  was  in  a  hiding-place  used  by 
thieves.  A  little  later  he  knew  that  the  ugly  old  woman's 
husband  paid  toll  to  a  certain  dclcgato  of  police,  hence 
their  house  was  never  searched.  While  the  criminal 
was  in  those  shabby  rooms  he  was  immune  from  arrest. 
The  place  was,  indeed,  one  of  many  hundreds  scattered 
over  Europe,  asylums  known  to  the  international  thief  as 


CONCERNS  THE  SPARROW  in 

places  ever  open  so  long  as  they  can  pay  for  their  board 
and  lodging  and  their  contribution  towards  the  police 
bribes. 

A  few  moments  later  the  ugly,  uncouth  man  who  had 
brought  him  from  Monte  Carlo  lit  a  cigarette,  and  wish- 
ing the  old  woman  a  merry  "addio"  left  and  descended 
the  stairs. 

The  signora  then  showed  Hugh  to  his  room,  a  small, 
dispiriting  and  not  overclean  little  chamber  which  looked 
out  upon  the  backs  of  the  adjoining  houses,  all  of  which 
were  high  and  inartistic.  Above,  however,  was  a  nar- 
row strip  of  brilliantly  blue  sunlit  sky. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  woman's  husband,  a  brown-faced,  sinister-look- 
ing individual  whose  black  bushy  eyebrows  met,  and  who 
greeted  the  young  Englishman  familiarly  in  atrocious 
French,  offering  him  a  glass  of  red  wine  from  a  big  rush- 
covered  flask. 

"We  only  had  word  of  your  coming  late  last  night," 
the  man  said.  "You  had  already  started  from  Monte 
Carlo,  and  we  wondered  if  you  would  get  past  the 
frontier  all  right." 

"Yes,"  replied  Hugh,  sipping  the  wine  out  of  courtesy. 
"We  got  out  of  France  quite  safely.  But  tell  me,  who 
made  all  these  arrangements  for  me?" 

"Why,  II  Passero,  of  course,"  replied  the  man,  whose 
wife  addressed  him  affectionately  as  Beppo. 

"Who  is  II  Passero,  pray?" 

"Well,  you  know  him  surely.  II  Passero,  or  The 
Sparrow.  We  call  him  so  because  he  is  always  flitting 
about  Europe,  and  always  elusive." 

"The  police  want  him,  I  suppose?" 

"I  should  rather  think  they  do.  They  have  been 
searching  for  him  for  these  past  five  years,  but  he  always 


ii2    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

dodges  them,  first  in  France,  then  here,  then  in  Spain, 
and  then  in  England." 

"But  what  is  this  mysterious  and  unknown  friend  of 
mine  ?" 

"II  Passero  is  the  chief  of  the  most  daring  of  all 
the  gangs  of  international  thieves.  We  all  work  at  his 
direction." 

"But  how  did  he  know  of  my  danger?"  asked  Hugh, 
mystified  and  dismayed. 

"II  Passero  knows  many  strange  things,"  he  replied 
with  a  grin.  "It  is  his  business  to  know  them.  And 
besides,  he  has  some  friends  in  the  police — persons  who 
never  suspect  him." 

"What  nationality  is  he?" 

The  man  Beppo  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"He  is  not  Italian,"  he  replied.  "Yet  he  speaks  the 
lingua  Toscano  perfectly  and  French  and  English  and 
Tedcsco.  He  might  be  Belgian  or  German,  or  even 
English.     Nobody  knows  his  true  nationality." 

"And  the  man  who  brought  me  here?" 

"Ah !  that  was  Paolo,  II  Passero's  chauffeur — a  merry 
fellow— eh?" 

"Remarkable,"  laughed  Hugh.  "But  I  cannot  see  why 
The  Sparrow  has  taken  such  a  paternal  interest  in  me," 
he  added. 

"He  no  doubt  has,  for  he  has,  apparently,  arranged 
for  your  safe  return  to  England." 

"You  know  him,  of  course.  What  manner  of  man 
is  he?" 

"A  signore — a  great  signore,"  replied  Beppo.  "He 
is  rich,  and  is  often  on  the  Riviera  in  winter.  He's 
probably  there  now.  Nobody  suspects  him.  He  is  often 
in  England,  too.  I  believe  he  has  a  house  in  London. 
During  the  war  he  worked  for  the  French  Secret  Service 


CONCERNS  THE  SPARROW  113 

under  the  name  of  Monsieur  Franqueville,  and  the 
French  Government  never  suspected  that  they  actually 
had  in  their  employ  the  famous  Passero  for  whom  the 
Surete  were  looking  everywhere." 

"You  have  no  idea  where  he  lives  in  London  ?" 

"I  was  once  told  that  he  had  a  big  house  somewhere 
in  what  you  call  the  West  End — somewhere  near  Picca- 
dilly. I  have,  however,  only  seen  him  once.  About 
eighteen  months  ago  he  was  hard  pressed  by  the  police 
and  took  refuge  here  for  two  nights,  till  Paolo  called  for" 
him  in  his  fine  car  and  he  passed  out  of  Italy  as  a  Swiss 
hotel-proprietor." 

"Then  he  is  head  of  a  gang — is  he?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  man's  reply.  "He  is  marvellous,  and 
has  indeed  well  earned  his  sobriquet  'II  Passero.'  " 

A  sudden  thought  flitted  through  Hugh's  mind. 

"I  suppose  he  is  a  friend  of  Mademoiselle  of  Monte 
Carlo?" 

"Ah,  signore,  I  do  not  know.  II  Passero  has  many 
friends.  He  is  rich,  prosperous,  well  dressed,  and  has 
influential  friends  in  France,  in  Italy  and  in  England 
who  never  suspect  him  to  be  the  notorious  king  of  the 
thieves." 

"Now,  tell  me,"  urged  young  Henfrey.  "What  do 
you  know  concerning  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo?" 

The  Italian  looked  at  him  strangely. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied,  still  speaking  bad  French. 

"You  are  not  speaking  the  truth." 

"Why  should  I  tell  it  to  you?  I  do  not  know  you!" 
was  the  quick  retort. 

"But  you  are  harbouring  me." 

"At  the  orders  of  II  Passero." 

"You  surely  can  tell  me  what  you  know  of  Made- 
moiselle," Hugh  persisted  after  a  brief  pause.    "We  are 


ii4    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

mutually  her  friends.  The  attempt  to  kill  her  is  out- 
rageous, and  I,  for  one,  intend  to  do  all  I  can  to  trace 
and  punish  the  culprit." 

"They  say  that  you  shot  her." 

"Well — you  know  that  I  did  not,"  Henfrey  said. 
"Have  you  yourself  ever  met  Mademoiselle  ?" 

"I  have  seen  her.  She  was  living  for  a  time  at  Santa 
Margherita  last  year.  I  had  a  friend  of  hers  living  here 
with  me  and  I  went  to  her  with  a  message.  She  is  a  very 
charming  lady." 

"And  a  friend  of  II  Passero?" 

The  Italian  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  gesture  of 
ignorance. 

Hugh  Henfrey  had  certainly  learned  much  that  was 
curious.  He  had  never  before  heard  of  the  interesting 
cosmopolitan  thief  known  as  The  Sparrow,  but  it  seemed 
evident  that  the  person  in  question  had  suddenly  become 
interested  in  him  for  some  obscure  and  quite  unaccount- 
able reason. 

As  day  followed  day  in  that  humble  place  of  conceal- 
ment, Beppo  told  him  many  things  concerning  the  famous 
criminal  II  Passero,  describing  his  exploits  in  terms  of 
admiration.  Hugh  learnt  that  it  was  The  Sparrow  who 
had  planned  the  great  jewel  robbery  at  Binet's,  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix,  when  some  famous  diamonds  belonging 
to  the  Shah  of  Persia,  which  had  been  sent  to  Paris  to  be 
reset,  were  stolen.  It  was  The  Sparrow,  too,  who  had 
planned  the  burglary  at  the  art  gallery  of  Evans  and 
Davies  in  Bond  Street  and  stolen  Raphael's  famous  Ma- 
donna. 

During  the  daytime  Hugh,  anxious  to  get  away  to  Brus- 
sels, but  compelled  to  obey  the  order  of  the  mysterious 
Passero,  spent  the  time  in  smoking  and  reading  books 
and  newspapers  with  which  Beppo's  wife  provided  him, 


CONCERNS  THE  SPARROW  115 

while  at  night  he  would  take  long  walks  through  the 
silent  city,  with  its  gloomy  old  palaces,  the  courtyards 
of  which  echoed  to  his  footsteps.  At  such  times  he  was 
alone  with  his  own  thoughts  and  would  walk  around  the 
port  and  out  upon  the  hills  which  surround  the  bay,  and 
then  sit  down  and  gaze  out  to  the  twinkling  lights  across 
the  sea  and  watch  the  long  beams  of  the  great  lighthouse 
searching  in  the  darkness. 

His  host  and  hostess  were  undoubtedly  criminals.  In- 
deed, they  did  not  hide  the  fact.  Both  were  paid  by  The 
Sparrow  to  conceal  and  provide  for  anyone  whom  he 
sent  there. 

He  had  been  there  four  weary,  anxious  days  when  one 
evening  a  pretty,  well-dressed  young  French  girl  called, 
and  after  a  short  chat  with  Beppo's  wife  became  installed 
there  as  his  fellow-guest.  He  did  not  know  her  name 
and  she  did  not  tell  him. 

She  was  known  to  them  as  Lisette,  and  Hugh  found 
her  a  most  vivacious  and  interesting  companion.  Truly, 
he  had  been  thrown  into  very  queer  company,  and  he 
often  wondered  what  his  friends  would  say  if  they  knew 
that  he  was  guest  in  a  hiding-place  of  thieves. 


TENTH  CHAPTER 

A   LESSON    IN   ARGOT 

Late  one  evening  the  dainty  girl  thief,  Lisette,  went  out 
for  a  stroll  with  Hugh,  but  in  the  Via  Roma  they  met  an 
agent  of  police. 

"Look !"  whispered  the  girl  in  French,  "there's  a  pince 
sans  rlrel    Be  careful !" 

She  constantly  used  the  argot  of  French  thieves,  which 
was  often  difficult  for  the  young  Englishman  to  under- 
stand. And  the  dark-haired  girl  would  laugh,  apologize, 
and  explain  the  meaning  of  her  strange  expressions. 

Outside  the  city  they  were  soon  upon  the  high  road 
which  wound  up  the  deep  green  valley  of  the  Bisagno 
away  into  the  mountains,  ever  ascending  to  the  little  hill- 
town  of  Molassana.  The  scene  was  delightful  in  the 
moonlight  as  they  climbed  the  steep  hill  and  then  de- 
scended aga'in  into  the  valley,  Lisette  all  the  time  gossip- 
ing on  in  a  manner  which  interested  and  amused  him. 

Her  arrival  had  put  an  end  to  his  boredom,  and, 
though  he  was  longing  to  get  away  from  his  surroundings, 
she  certainly  cheered  him  up. 

They  had  walked  for  nearly  an  hour,  when,  declaring 
she  felt  tired,  they  sat  upon  a  rock  to  rest  and  eat  the 
sandwiches  with  which  they  had  provided  themselves. 

Two  carabineers  in  cloaks  and  cocked  hats  who  met 
them  on  the  road  put  them  down  as  lovers  keeping  a 
clandestine  tryst.  They  never  dreamed  that  for  both  of 
them  the  police  were  in  search. 

116 


A  LESSON  IN  ARGOT  117 

"Now  tell  me  something  concerning  yourself,  made- 
moiselle," Hugh  urged  presently. 

"Myself!  Oh!  la  la!"  she  laughed.  "What  is  there 
to  tell?  I  am  just  of  la  haute  pegre — a  truqueuse.  Ah! 
you  will  not  know  the  expression.  Well — I  am  a  thief 
in  high  society.  I  give  indications  where  we  can  make  a 
coup,  and  afterwards  brulcr  le  pcgriot — efface  the  trace 
of  the  affair." 

"And  why  are  you  here?" 

" Malheur euscmcnt I  I  was  in  Orleans  and  a  friquet 
nearly  captured  me.  So  II  Passero  sent  me  here  for  a 
while." 

"You  help  II  Passero— eh?" 

"Yes.  Very  often.  Ah !  m'sieur,  he  is  a  most  won- 
derful man — English,  I  think.  Girofle  (genteel  and 
amiable),  like  yourself." 

"No,  no,  mademoiselle,"  Hugh  protested,  laughing. 

"But  I  mean  it.  II  Passero  is  a  real  gentleman — but — 
maquiller  son  true,  and  he  is  marvellous.  When  he  exer- 
cises his  wonderful  talent  and  forms  a  plan  it  is  always 
flawless." 

"Everyone  seems  to  hold  him  in  high  esteem.  I  have 
never  met  him,"  Hugh  remarked. 

"He  was  in  Genoa  on  the  day  that  I  arrived.  Curious 
that  he  did  not  call  and  see  Beppo.  I  lunched  with  him 
at  the  Concordia,  and  he  paid  me  five  thousand  francs, 
which  he  owed  me.  He  has  gone  to  London  now  with 
his  ecrachc-tarte." 

"What  is  that,  pray?" 

"His  false  passport.  He  has  always  a  good  supply  of 
them  for  anyone  in  need  of  one.  They  are  printed  se- 
cretly in  Spain.  But,  m'sieur,"  she  added,  "you  are  not 
of  our  world.  You  are  in  just  a  little  temporary  trouble. 
Over  what?" 


n8    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

In  reply  he  was  perfectly  frank  with  her.  He  told 
her  of  the  suspicion  against  him  because  of  the  affair  of 
the  Villa  Amette. 

"Ah !"  she  replied,  her  manner  changing,  "I  have  heard 
that  Mademoiselle  was  shot,  but  I  had  no  idea  that  you 
had  any  connexion  with  that  ugly  business." 

"Yes.  Unfortunately  I  have.  Do  you  happen  to  know 
Yvonne  Ferad?" 

"Of  course.  Everyone  knows  her.  She  is  very  charm- 
ing.   Nobody  knows  the  truth." 

"What  truth  ?"  inquired  Hugh  quickly. 

"Well — that  she  is  a  marque  de  ce." 

"A  marque  de  ce — what  is  that?"  asked  Hugh  eagerly. 

"Ah!  non,  m'sieur.  I  must  not  tell  you  anything 
against  her.    You  are  her  friend." 

"But  I  am  endeavouring  to  find  out  something  about 
her.    To  me  she  is  a  mystery." 

"No  doubt.    She  is  to  everybody." 

"What  did  you  mean  by  that  expression?"  he  de- 
manded. "Do  tell  me.  I  am  very  anxious  to  know  your 
opinion  of  her,  and  something  about  her.  I  have  a  very 
earnest  motive  in  trying  to  discover  who  and  what  she 
really  is." 

"If  I  told  you  I  should  offend  II  Passero,"  replied  the 
girl  simply.     "It  is  evident  that  he  wishes  you  should 


remain  in  ignorance." 


"But  surely,  you  can  tell  me  in  confidence?  I  will 
divulge  nothing." 

"No,"  answered  the  girl,  whose  face  he  could  not  see 
in  the  shadow.  "I  am  sorry,  M'sieur  Brown" — she  had 
not  been  told  his  Christian  name — "but  I  am  not  per- 
mitted to  tell  you  anything  concerning  Mademoiselle 
Yvonne." 


A  LESSON  IN  ARGOT  119 

"She  is  a  very  remarkable  person — eh?"  said  Henfrey, 
again  de  f  eated. 

"Remarkable !    Oh,  yes.    She  is  of  the  grande  monde." 

"Is  that  still  your  argot?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  no.  Mademoiselle  Yvonne  is  a  lady.  Some  say 
she  is  the  daughter  of  a  rich  Englishman.  Others  say 
she  is  just  a  common  adventuress." 

"The  latter  is  true,  I  suppose  ?" 

"I  think  not.    She  has  Ic  clou  for  the  epongc  d'or." 

"I  do  not  follow  that." 

"Well,"  she  laughed,  "she  has  the  attraction  for  those 
who  hold  the  golden  sponge — the  Ministers  of  State. 
Our  argot  is  difficult  for  you,  m'sieur — eh  ?" 

"I  see !  Your  expressions  are  a  kind  of  cipher,  unin- 
telligible to  the  ordinary  person — eh?" 

"That  is  so.  If  I  exclaim,  par  exemplc,  tarte,  it  means 
false;  if  I  say  gilet  de  flanellc,  it  is  lemonade;  if  I  say 
frise,  it  means  a  Jew ;  or  casserole,  which  is  in  our  own 
tongue  a  police  officer.  So  you  see  it  is  a  little  difficult 
— is  it  not  ?  To  us  tire-jus  is  a  handkerchief,  and  we  call 
the  ville  de  Paris  Pantruchc." 

Hugh  sat  in  wonder.  It  was  certainly  a  strange  ex- 
perience to  be  on  a  moonlight  ramble  with  a  girl  thief 
who  had,  according  to  her  own  confession,  been  born  in 
Paris  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  was  still  one  of  II 
Passero's  clever  and  desperate  band. 

"Yes,  m'sieur,"  she  said  a  few  moments  later.  "They 
are  all  dangerous.  They  do  not  fear  to  use  the  knife  or 
automatic  pistol  when  cornered.  For  myself,  I  simply 
move  about  Europe  and  make  discoveries  as  to  where 
little  affairs  can  be  negotiated.  I  tell  II  Passero,  and  he 
then  works  out  the  plans.  Dieu!  But  I  had  a  narrow 
escape  the  other  day  in  Orleans !" 


120    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Do  tell  me  about  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo.  I 
beg  of  you  to  tell  me  something,  Mademoiselle  Lisette," 
Hugh  urged,  turning  to  the  girl  of  many  adventures  who 
was  seated  at  his  side  upon  the  big  rock  overlooking  the 
ravine  down  which  the  bright  moon  was  shining. 

"I  would  if  I  were  permitted,"  she  replied.  "Made- 
moiselle Yvonne  is  charming.  You  know  her,  so  I  need 
say  nothing,  but " 

"Well— what?" 

"She  is  clever — very  clever,"  said  the  girl.  "As  II 
Passero  is  clever,  so  is  she." 

"Then  she  is  actively  associated  with  him — eh  ?" 

"Yes.  She  is  cognizant  of  all  his  movements,  and  of 
all  his  plans.  While  she  moves  in  one  sphere — often  in 
a  lower  sphere,  like  myself — yet  in  society  she  moves  in 
the  higher  sphere,  and  she  'indicates,'  just  as  I  do." 

"So  she  is  one  of  The  Sparrow's  associates?"  Hugh 
said. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "From  what  you  have  told  me 
I  gather  that  II  Passero  knew  by  one  of  his  many  secret 
sources  of  information  that  you  were  in  danger  of  arrest, 
and  sent  Paolo  to  rescue  you — which  he  did." 

"No  doubt  that  is  so.  But  why  should  he  take  all  this 
interest  in  me?  I  don't  know  and  have  never  even  met 
him." 

"II  Passero  is  always  courteous.  He  assists  the  weak 
against  the  strong.  He  is  like  your  English  bandit 
Claude  Duval  of  the  old  days.  He  always  robs  with  ex- 
quisite courtesy,  and  impresses  the  same  trait  upon  all 
who  are  in  his  service.  And  I  may  add  that  all  are  well 
paid  and  all  devoted  to  their  great  master." 

"I  have  heard  that  he  has  a  house  in  London,"  Hugh 
said.    "Do  you  know  where  it  is  situated?" 

"Somewhere  near  Piccadilly.     But  I  do  not  know  ex- 


A  LESSON  IN  ARGOT  121 

actly  where  it  is.  He  is  always  vague  regarding  his  ad- 
dress. His  letters  he  receives  in  several  names  at  a 
newspaper  shop  in  Hammersmith  and  at  the  Poste 
Restante  at  Charing  Cross." 

"What  names  ?"  asked  Hugh,  highly  interested. 

"Oh !  a  number.  They  are  always  being  changed,"  the 
French  girl  replied. 

"Where  do  you  write  when  you  want  to  communicate 
with  him?" 

"Generally  to  the  Poste  Restante  in  the  Avenue  de 
l'Opera,  in  Paris.  Letters  received  there  are  collected  for 
him  and  forwarded  every  day." 

"And  so  clever  is  he  that  nobody  suspects  him — eh?" 

"Exactly,  m'sieur.  His  policy  is  always  'Rengraciez!' 
and  he  cares  not  a  single  rotin  for  La  Reniffc,"  she  re- 
plied, dropping  again  into  the  slang  of  French  thieves. 

"Of  course  he  is  on  friendly  terms  with  Mademoiselle 
of  Monte  Carlo?"  Hugh  remarked.  "He  may  have  been 
at  Monte  Carlo  on  the  night  of  the  tragic  affair." 

"He  may  have  been.  He  was,  no  doubt,  somewhere 
on  the  Riviera,  and  he  sent  Paolo  in  one  of  the  cars  to 
rescue  you  from  the  police." 

"In  that  case,  he  at  least  knows  that  I  am  innocent." 

"Yes.  And  he  probably  knows  the  guilty  person. 
That  would  account  for  the  interest  he  takes  in  you, 
though  you  do  not  know  him,"  said  Lisette.  "I  have 
known  II  Passero  perform  many  kindly  acts  to  persons 
in  distress  who  have  never  dreamed  that  they 
have  received  money  from  the  notorious  international 
thief." 

"Well,  in  my  case  he  has,  no  doubt,  done  me  signal 
service,"    young    Henfrey    replied.      "But,"    he    added, 
"why   cannot  you   tell    me   something   more   concerning 
Mademoiselle?    What  did  you  mean  by  saying  that  she 


T22    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

was  a  marque  de  cef  I  know  it  is  your  slang,  but  won't 
you  explain  what  it  means?  You  have  explained  most 
of  your  other  expressions." 

But  the  girl  thief  was  obdurate.  She  was  certainly  a 
chic  and  engaging  little  person,  apparently  well  educated 
and  refined,  but  she  was  as  sly  as  her  notorious  em- 
ployer, whom  she  served  so  faithfully.  She  was,  she  had 
already  told  Hugh,  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  had  made 
jewel  thefts  his  speciality  and  after  many  convictions 
was  now  serving  ten  years  at  the  convict  prison  at  Tou- 
lon. She  had  been  bred  in  the  Montmartre,  and  trained 
and  educated  to  a  criminal  life.  II  Passero  had  found 
her,  and,  after  several  times  successfully  "indicating" 
where  coups  could  be  made,  she  had  been  taken  into  his 
employment  as  a  decoy,  frequently  travelling  on  the  in- 
ternational wagon-lits  and  restaurants,  where  she  suc- 
ceeded in  attracting  the  attention  of  men  and  holding 
them  in  conversation  with  a  mild  flirtation  while  other 
members  of  the  gang  investigated  the  contents  of  their 
valises.  From  one  well-known  diamond  dealer  travelling 
between  Paris  and  Amsterdam,  she  and  the  man  working 
with  her  had  stolen  a  packet  containing  diamonds  of  the 
value  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  while  from  an 
English  business  man  travelling  from  Boulogne  to  Paris, 
two  days  later,  she  had  herself  taken  a  wallet  containing 
nearly  four  thousand  pounds  in  English  bank-notes.  It 
was  her  share  of  a  recent  robbery  that  II  Passero  had 
paid  her  three  days  before  at  the  Concordia  Restaurant 
in  the  Via  Garibaldi,  in  Genoa. 

Hugh  pressed  her  many  times  to  tell  him  something 
concerning  the  mysterious  Mademoiselle,  but  he  failed  to 
elicit  any  further  information  of  interest. 

"Her  fortune  at  the  Rooms  is  wonderful,  they  say," 
Lisette  said.    "She  must  be  very  rich." 


A  LESSON  IN  ARGOT  123 

"But  she  is  one  of  II  Passero's  assistants — eh?" 

The  girl  laughed  lightly. 

"Perhaps,"  was  her  enigmatical  reply.  "Who  knows? 
It  is,  however,  evident  that  II  Passero  is  seriously  con- 
cerned at  the  tragic  affair  at  the  Villa  Amette." 

"Have  you  ever  been  there  ?' 

She  hesitated  a  few  moments,  then  said :  "Yes,  once." 

"And  you  know  the  old  Italian  servant  Cataldi  ?" 

She  replied  in  the  affirmative.    Then  she  added : 

"I  know  him,  but  I  do  not  like  him.  She  trusts  him, 
but " 

"But  what?" 

"I  would  not.  I  should  be  afraid,  for  to  my  knowl- 
edge he  is  a  saigneur  a  musique." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"An  assassin." 

"What?"  cried  Henfrey.  "Is  he  guilty  of  murder — 
and  Mademoiselle  knows  it?" 

"Mademoiselle  may  not  know  about  it.  She  is  proba- 
bly in  ignorance,  or  she  would  not  employ  him." 

Her  remark  was  of  considerable  interest,  inasmuch  as 
old  Cataldi  had  seemed  to  be  most  devoted  to  his  mis- 
tress, and  entirely  trusted  by  her. 

"Do  you  know  the  circumstances?"  asked  Hugh. 

"Yes.  But  it  is  not  our  habit  to  speak  of  another's — 
well,  shortcomings,"  was  her  reply. 

"Surely,  Mademoiselle  should  have  been  told  the  truth ! 
Does  not  U  Passero  know  ?"  he  asked. 

There  flitted  across  his  mind  at  that  moment  the  recol- 
lection of  Dorise.  What  could  she  think  of  his  disap- 
pearance ?  He  longed  to  write  to  her,  but  The  Sparrow's 
chauffeur  had  impressed  upon  him  the  serious  danger  he 
would  be  running  if  he  wrote  to  her  while  she  was  at 
Monte  Carlo. 


124    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"I  question  whether  he  does  know.  But  if  he  does  he 
would  say  nothing." 

"Ah !"  sighed  Hugh.  "Yours  is  indeed  a  queer  world, 
mademoiselle.    And  not  without  interest." 

"It  is  full  of  adventure  and  excitement,  of  ups  and 
downs,  of  constant  travel  and  change,  and  of  eternal 
apprehension  of  arrest,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  laugh. 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  something  about  Yvonne 
Ferad,"  he  repeated. 

"Alas !  m'sieur,  I  am  not  permitted,"  was  her  obdurate 
reply.  "I  am  truly  sorry  to  hear  of  the  dastardly  attack 
upon  her.  She  once  did  me  a  very  kind  and  friendly 
action  at  a  moment  when  I  was  in  sore  need  of  a  friend." 

"Who  could  have  fired  the  shot,  do  you  think?"  Hen- 
frey  asked.  "You  know  her  friends.  Perhaps  you  know 
her  enemies  ?" 

Mademoiselle  Lisette  was  silent  for  some  moments. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  reflectively.  "She  has  enemies,  I 
know.    But  who  has  not?" 

"Is  there  any  person  who,  to  your  knowledge,  would 
have  any  motive  to  kill  her?" 

Again  she  was  silent. 

"There  are  several  people  who  hate  her.  One  of  them 
might  have  done  it  out  of  revenge.  You  say  you  saw 
nobody?" 

"Nobody." 

"Why  did  you  go  and  see  her  at  that  hour  ?"  asked  the 
girl. 

"Because  I  wanted  her  to  tell  me  something — some- 
thing of  greatest  importance  to  me." 

"And  she  refused,  of  course?  She  keeps  her  own 
secrets." 

"No.     On  the  other  hand,  she  was  about  to  disclose 


A  LESSON  IN  ARGOT  125 

to  me  the  information  I  sought  when  someone  fired 
through  the  open  window." 

"The  shot  might  have  been  intended  for  you — eh?" 

Hugh  paused. 

"It  certainly  might,"  he  admitted.  "But  with  what 
motive  ?" 

"To  prevent  you  from  learning  the  truth." 

"She  was  on  the  point  of  telling  me  what  I  wanted  to 
know." 

"Exactly.  And  what  more  likely  than  someone  out- 
side, realizing  that  Mademoiselle  was  about  to  make  a 
disclosure,  fired  at  you." 

"But  you  said  that  Mademoiselle  had  enemies." 

"So  she  has.  But  I  think  my  theory  is  the  correct 
one,"  replied  the  girl.  "What  was  it  that  you  asked  her 
to  reveal  to  you?" 

"Well,"  he  replied,  after  a  brief  hesitation,  "my  father 
died  mysteriously  in  London  some  time  ago,  and  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  she  knows  the  truth  concerning  the 
sad  affair." 

"Where  did  it  happen?" 

"My  father  was  found  in  the  early  morning  lying 
in  a  doorway  in  Albemarle  Street,  close  to  Piccadilly. 
The  only  wound  found  was  a  slight  scratch  in  the  palm 
of  the  hand.  The  police  constable  at  first  thought  he 
was  intoxicated,  but  the  doctor,  on  being  called,  declared 
that  my  father  was  suffering  from  poison.  He  was  at 
once  taken  to  St.  George's  Hospital,  but  an  hour  later 
he  died  without  recovering  consciousness." 

"And  what  was  your  father's  name?"  asked  Lisette 
in  a  strangely  altered  voice. 

"Henfrey." 

"Henfrey!"  gasped  the  girl,   starting  up  at  mention 


126    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 


of  the  name.  "Henfrey!  And — and  are — you — his 
son?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Hugh.  "Why?  You  know  about  the 
affair,  mademoiselle !  Tell  me  all  you  know,"  he  cried. 
"I — the  son  of  the  dead  man — have  a  right  to  demand  the 
truth." 

"Henfrey !"  repeated  the  girl  hoarsely  in  a  state  of 
intense  agitation.  "Monsieur  Henfrey !  And — and  to 
think  that  I  am  here — with  you — his  son!  Ah!  forgive 
me  !"  she  gasped.    "I — I Let  us  return." 

"But  you  shall  tell  me  the  truth !"  cried  Hugh  ex- 
citedly. "You  know  it!  You  cannot  deny  that  you 
know  it !" 

All,  however,  he  could  get  from  her  were  the  words : 

"You — Monsieur  Henf  rey's  son  !  Surely  II  Passero 
does  not  know  this!" 


ELEVENTH  CHAPTER 

MORE   ABOUT   THE    SPARROW 

A  month  of  weary  anxiety  and  nervous  tension  had 
gone  by. 

Yvonne  Ferad  had  slowly  struggled  back  to  health, 
but  the  injury  to  the  brain  had,  alas !  seriously  upset  the 
balance  of  her  mind.  Three  of  the  greatest  French 
specialists  upon  mental  diseases  had  seen  her  and  ex- 
pressed little  hope  of  her  ever  regaining  her  reason. 

It  was  a  sad  affair  which  the  police  of  Monaco  had, 
by  dint  of  much  bribery  and  the  telling  of  many  un- 
truths, successfully  kept  out  of  the  newspapers. 

The  evening  after  Hugh's  disappearance,  Monsieur 
Ogicr  had  called  upon  Dorise  Ranscomb — her  mother 
happily  being  away  at  the  Rooms  at  the  time.  In  one 
of  the  sitting-rooms  of  the  hotel  the  official  of  police 
closely  questioned  the  girl,  but  she,  of  course,  made  pre- 
tence of  complete  ignorance.  Naturally  Ogier  was  an- 
noyed at  being  unable  to  obtain  the  slightest  information, 
and  after  being  very  rude,  he  told  the  girl  the  charge 
against  her  lover  and  then  left  the  hotel  in  undisguised 
anger. 

Lady  Ranscomb  was  very  much  mystified  at  Hugh's 
disappearance,  though  secretly  she  was  very  glad.  She 
questioned  Brock,  but  he,  on  his  part,  expressed  him- 
self much  puzzled.  A  week  later,  however,  Walter  re- 
turned to  London,  and  on  the  following  night  Lady 
Ranscomb  and  her  daughter  took  the  train-de-luxe  for 
Boulogne,  and  duly  arrived  home. 

127 


128    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

As  day  followed  day,  Dorise  grew  more  mystified  and 
still  more  anxious  concerning  Hugh.  What  was  the 
truth?  She  had  written  to  Brussels  three  times,  but 
her  letters  had  elicited  no  response.  He  might  be  already 
under  arrest,  for  aught  she  knew.  Besides,  she  could 
not  rid  herself  of  the  recollection  of  the  white  cavalier, 
that  mysterious  masker  who  had  told  her  of  her  lover's 
escape. 

In  this  state  of  keen  anxiety  and  overstrung  nerves 
she  was  compelled  to  meet  almost  daily,  and  be  civil  to, 
her  mother's  friend,  the  odious  George  Sherrard. 

Lady  Ranscomb  was  for  ever  singing  the  man's  praises, 
and  never  weary  of  expressing  her  surprise  at  Hugh's 
unforgivable  behaviour. 

"He  simply  disappeared,  and  nobody  has  heard  a  word 
of  him  since !"  she  remarked  one  day  as  they  sat  at 
breakfast.  "I'm  quite  certain  he's  done  something  wrong. 
I've  never  liked  him,  Dorise." 

"You  don't  like  him.  mother,  because  he  hasn't  money," 
remarked  the  girl  bitterly.  "If  he  were  rich  and  enter- 
tained you,  you  would  call  him  a  delightful  man !" 

"Dorise  !  What  are  you  saying  ?  What's  the  good  of 
life  without  money?"  queried  the  widow  of  the  great 
contractor. 

"Everyone  can't  be  rich,"  the  girl  averred  simply.  "I 
think  it's  positively  hateful  to  judge  people  by  their 
pockets." 

"Well,  has  Hugh  written  to  you?"  snapped  her  mother. 

Dorise  replied  in  the  negative,  stifling  a  sigh. 

"And  he  isn't  likely  to.  He's  probably  hiding  some- 
where.    I  wonder  what  he's  done?" 

"Nothing.     I'm  sure  of  that!" 

"Well,  I'm  not  so  sure,"  was  her  mother's  response. 


MORE  ABOUT  THE  SPARROW  129 

"I  was  chatting  about  it  to  Mr.  Sherrard  last  night,  and 
he's  promised  to  make  inquiry." 

"Let  Mr.  Sherrard  inquire  as  much  as  he  likes,"  cried 
the  girl  angrily.  "He'll  find  nothing  against  Hugh,  ex- 
cept that  he's  poor." 

"H'm !  And  he's  been  far  too  much  in  your  com- 
pany of  late,  Dorise.  People  were  beginning  to  talk  at 
Monte  Carlo." 

"Oh !"  Let  them  talk,  mother !  I  don't  care  a  scrap. 
I'm  my  own  mistress !" 

"Yes,  but  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I'm  very  glad  that 
we've  seen  the  last  of  the  fellow." 

"Mother !  You  are  really  horrid !"  cried  the  gin, 
rising  abruptly  and  leaving  the  table.  When  out  of  the 
room  she  burst  into  tears. 

Poor  girl,  her  heart  was  indeed  full. 

Now  it  happened  that  early  on  that  same  morning 
Hugh  Henfrey  stepped  from  a  train  which  had  brought 
him  from  Aix-la-Chapelle  to  the  Gare  du  Nord,  in  Brus- 
sels. He  had  spent  three  weeks  with  the  Raveccas,  in 
Genoa,  whence  he  had  travelled  to  Milan  and  Bale,  and 
on  into  Belgium  by  way  of  Germany. 

From  Lisette  he  had  failed  to  elicit  any  further  facts 
concerning  his  father's  death,  though  it  was  apparent 
that  she  knew  something  about  it — something  she  dared 
not   tell. 

On  the  day  following  their  midnight  stroll,  he  had  done 
all  in  his  power  to  induce  her  to  reveal  something  at  least 
of  the  affair,  but,  alas !  to  no  avail.  Then,  two  days 
later,  she  had  suddenly  left — at  orders  of  The  Sparrow, 
she  said. 

Before  Hugh  left  Ravecca  had  given  him  eighty 
pounds  in  English  notes,  saying  that  he  acted  at  II  Pas- 


130    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

sero's  orders,  for  Hugh  would  no  doubt  need  the  money, 
and  it  would  be  most  dangerous  for  him  to  write  to  his 
bankers. 

At  first  Henfrey  protested,  but,  as  his  funds  were 
nearly  exhausted,  he  had  accepted  the  money. 

As  he  left  the  station  in  Brussels  on  that  bright  spring 
morning  and  crossed  the  busy  Place,  he  was  wondering 
to  what  hotel  he  should  go.  He  had  left  his  scanty 
luggage  in  the  consigne,  intending  to  go  out  on  foot  and 
search  for  some  cheap  and  obscure  hotel,  there  being 
many  such  in  the  vicinity  of  the  station.  After  half  an 
hour  he  chose  a  small  and  apparently  clean  little  place 
in  a  narrow  street  off  the  Place  de  Brouckere,  and  there, 
later  on,  he  carried  his  handbag.  Then,  after  a  wash, 
he  set  out  for  the  Central  Post  Office  in  the  Place  de  la 
Monnaie. 

He  had  not  gone  far  along  the  busy  boulevard  when 
he  was  startled  to  hear  his  name  uttered  from  behind, 
and,  turning,  encountered  a  short,  thick-set  little  man 
wearing  a  brown  overcoat. 

The  man,  noticing  the  effect  his  words  had  upon  him, 
smiled  reassuringly,  and  said  in  broken  English:  "It  is 
all  right !  I  am  not  a  police  officer,  Monsieur  Henfrey. 
Cross  the  road  and  walk  down  that  street  yonder.  I  will 
follow  in  a  few  moments." 

And  then  the  man  walked  on.  leaving  Hugh  alone. 

Much  surprised,  Hugh  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  the  Belgian  met  him  again. 

"It  is  very  dangerous  for  us  to  be  seen  together," 
he  said  quickly,  scarcely  pausing  as  he  walked.  "Do  not 
go  near  the  Post  Office,  but  go  straight  to  14  Rue  Beyaert, 
first  floor.  I  shall  be  there  awaiting  you.  I  have  a 
message  for  you  from  a  friend.  You  will  find  the 
street  close  to  the  Porte  de  Hal." 


MORE  ABOUT  THE  SPARROW  131 

And  the  man  continued  his  way,  leaving  Hugh  in 
wonder.  He  had  been  on  the  point  of  turning  from 
the  boulevard  into  the  Place  de  la  Monnaie  to  obtain 
Dorise's  long  looked  for  letter.  Indeed,  he  had  been 
hastening  his  footsteps  full  of  keen  apprehension  when 
the  stranger  had  accosted  him. 

Put  in  accordance  with  the  man's  suggestion,  he 
turned  back  towards  the  station,  where  he  entered  a 
taxi  and  drove  across  the  city  to  the  corner  of  Rue 
Beyaert,  a  highly  respectable  thoroughfare.  He  experi- 
enced no  difficulty  in  finding  the  house  indicated,  and  on 
ascending  the  stairs,  found  the  stranger  awaiting  him. 

"Ah!"  he  cried.  "Come  in!  I  am  glad  that  I  dis- 
covered you!  T  have  been  awaiting  your  arrival  from 
Italy  for  the  past  fortnight.  It  is  indeed  fortunate  that 
I  found  you  in  time  to  warn  you  not  to  go  to  the  Poste 
Restante."  He  spoke  in  French,  and  had  shown  his 
visitor  into  a  small  but  well  furnished  room. 

"Why?"  asked  Hugh.  "Is  there  danger  in  that 
quarter?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  Henfrey.  The  French  police  have, 
by  some  unknown  means,  discovered  that  you  were  com- 
ing here,  and  a  strict  watch  is  being  kept  for  anyone 
calling  for  letters  addressed  to  Godfrey  Brown." 

"But  how  could  they  know?"  asked  Hugh. 

"Ah!  That  is  the  mystery!  Perhaps  your  lady 
friend  has  been  indiscreet.  She  was  told  in  strict  con- 
fidence, and  was  warned  that  your  safety  was  in  her 
hands." 

"Surely,  Dorise  would  be  most  careful  not  to  betray 
me !"  cried  the  young  Englishman. 

"Well,  somebody  undoubtedly  has." 

"I  presume  you  are  one  of  II  Passero's  friends?" 
Hugh  said  with  a  smile. 


132    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Yes.    Hence  I  am  your  friend,"  was  the  reply. 

"Have  you  heard  of  late  how  Mademoiselle  Yvonne 
is  progressing?" 

The  man,  who  told  his  visitor  his  name  was  Jules 
Vervoort,  shook  his  head. 

"She  is  no  better.  I  heard  last  week  that  the  doctors 
have  said  that  she  will  never  recover  her  mental  bal- 
ance." 

"What!     Is  she  demented?" 

"Yes.  The  report  I  had  was  that  she  recognized 
nobody,  except  at  intervals  she  knows  her  Italian  man- 
servant and  calls  him  by  name.  I  was  ordered  to  tell 
you  this." 

"Ordered  by  II  Passero— eh?" 

The  man  Vervoort  nodded  in  the  affrmative.  Then 
he  went  on  to  warn  his  visitor  that  the  Brussels  police 
were  on  the  eager  watch  for  his  arrival.  "It  is  fortunate 
that  you  were  not  recognized  when  you  came  this  morn- 
ing," he  said.  "I  had  secret  warning  and  was  at  the 
station,  but  I  dared  not  approach  you.  You  passed  under 
the  very  nose  of  two  detectives,  but  luckily  for  you, 
their  attention  had  been  diverted  to  a  woman  who  is  a 
well-known  pickpocket.  I  followed  you  to  your  hotel 
and  then  waited  for  you  to  go  to  the  Poste  Restante." 

"But  I  want  my  letters,"  said  Hugh. 

"Naturally,  but  it   is   far  too  dangerous  to  go  near 
there.     You,  of  course,  want  news  of  your  lady  friend, 
[hat   you    will    have   by    special    messenger   very    soon. 
Therefore  remain  patient." 

"Why  are  all  these  precautions  being  taken  to  prevent 
my  arrest?"  Hugh  asked.  "I  confess  I  don't  understand 
it." 

"Neither  do  I.  But  when  II  Passero  commands  we 
all  obey." 


MORE  ABOUT  THE  SPARROW  133 

"You  are,  I  presume,  his  agent  in  Brussels?" 
"His  friend — not  his  agent,"  Vervoort  replied  with  a 
smile. 

"Do  you  know  Mademoiselle  Lisette?"  Hugh  asked. 
"She  was  with  me  in  Genoa." 

"Yes.  We  have  met.  A  very  clever  little  person.  II 
Passero  thinks  very  highly  of  her.  She  has  been  edu- 
cated in  the  higher  schools,  and  is  perhaps  one  of  our 
cleverest  decoys." 

Hugh  Henfrey  paused. 

"Now  look  here,  Monsieur  Vervoort,"  he  exclaimed  at 
last,  "I'm  very  much  in  the  dark  about  all  this  curious 
business.  Lisette  knows  a  lot  concerning  Mademoiselle 
Yvonne." 

"Admitted.  She  acted  once  as  her  maid,  I  be- 
lieve, in  some  big  affair.  But  I  don't  know  much  about 
It." 

"Well,  you  know  what  happened  at  the  Villa  Amette 
that  night?  Have  you  any  idea  of  the  identity  of  the 
person  who  shot  poor  Mademoiselle — the  lady  they  call 
Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  was  the  reply.  "All  I  know  is 
that  II  Passero  has  some  very  keen  and  personal  interest 
in  the  affair.  He  has  sent  further  orders  to  you.  It  is 
imperative,  he  says,  that  you  should  get  away  from 
Brussels.  The  police  are  too  keen  here." 
"WKere  shall  I  go?" 

"I  suggest  that  you  go  at  once  to  Malines.  Go  to 
Madame  Maupoil,  208  Rue  de  Stassart,  opposite  the 
Military  Hospital.  It  is  far  too  dangerous  for  you  to 
remain  here  in  Brussels.  I  have  already  written  that 
you  are  coming.  Her  house  is  one  of  the  sanctuaries  of 
the  friends  of  II  Passero.  Remember  the  name  and 
address." 


134    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"The  Sparrow  seems  to  be  ubiquitous,"  Hugh  re- 
marked. 

"He  is.  No  really  great  robbery  can  be  accomplished 
unless  he  plans  and  finances  it." 

"I  cannot  think  why  he  takes  so  keen  an  interest  in 
me. 

"He  often  does  in  persons  who  are  quite  ignorant  of 
his  existence." 

"That  is  my  own  case.  I  never  heard  of  him  until  I 
was  in  Genoa,  a  fugitive,"  said  Hugh.  "But  you  told  me 
I  shall  receive  a  message  from  Miss  Ranscomb  by  spe- 
cial messenger.     When?" 

"When  you  are   in   Malines." 

"But  all  this  is  very  strange.  Will  the  mysterious 
messenger  call  upon  Miss  Ranscomb  in  London?" 

"Of  course.  II  Passero  has  several  messengers  who 
travel  to  and  fro  in  secret.  Mademoiselle  Lisette  was 
once  one  of  them.  She  has  travelled  many  times  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Europe.  But  nowadays  she  is 
an  indicator — and  a  very  clever  one  indeed,"  he  added 
with  a  laugh. 

"I  suppose  I  had  better  get  away  to  Malines  without 
delay?"  Hugh  remarked. 

"Yes.  Go  to  your  hotel,  pay  them  for  your  room  and 
get  your  valise.  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you  at  noon  in 
a  car  in  the  Rue  Gretry,  close  to  the  Palais  d'Ete.  Then 
we  can  slip  away  to  Malines.  Have  you  sufficient  money? 
If  not,  I  can  give  you  some.  II  Passero  has  ordered  me 
to  do  so." 

"Thanks,"  replied  Hugh.  "I  have  enough  for  the 
present.     My  only  desire  is  to  be  back  again  in  London." 

"Ah !  I  am  afraid  that  is  not  possible  for  some 
time  to  come." 

"But  I  shall  hear  from  Miss  Ranscomb?" 


MORE  ABOUT  THE  SPARROW  135 

"Oh,  yes.    The  messenger  will  come  to  you  in  Malines." 

"Who  is  the  messenger?" 

"Of  that  I  have  no  knowledge,"  was  Vervoort's  reply. 
He  seemed  a  very  refined  man,  and  was  no  doubt  an 
extremely  clever  crook.  He  said  little  of  himself,  but 
sufficient  to  cause  Hugh  to  realize  that  his  was  one  of 
the  master  minds  of  underground  Europe. 

The  young  Englishman  was  naturally  eager  to  fur- 
ther penetrate  the  veil  of  mystery  surrounding  Made- 
moiselle Yvonne,  but  he  learned  little  or  nothing.  Ver- 
voort  either  knew  nothing,  or  else  refused  to  disclose 
what  he  knew.    Which,  Hugh  could  not  exactly  decide. 

Therefore,  in  accordance  with  the  Belgian's  instruc- 
tions, he  left  the  house  and  at  noon  carried  his  valise  to 
the  Rue  Gretry,  where  he  found  his  friend  awaiting  him 
in  a  closed  car,  which  quickly  moved  off  out  of  the  city 
by  the  Laeken  road.  Travelling  by  way  of  Vilvorde 
they  were  within  an  hour  in  old-world  Malines,  famous 
for  its  magnificent  cathedral  and  its  musical  carillon. 
Crossing  the  Louvain  Canal  and  entering  by  the  Porte 
de  Bruxelles,  they  were  soon  in  an  inartistic  cobbled 
street  under  the  shadow  of  St.  Rombold,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  Hugh  was  introduced  to  a  short,  stout 
Belgian  woman,  Madame  Maupoil.  The  place  was 
meagrely  furnished,  but  scrupulously  clean.  The  floor 
of  the  room  to  which  Hugh  was  shown  shone  with  bees- 
wax, and  the  walls  were  whitewashed. 

"I  hope  monsieur  will  make  himself  quite  comfort- 
able." madame  said,  a  broad  smile  of  welcome  upon  her 
round  face. 

"You  will  be  comfortable  enough  under  madame's 
care,"  Vervoort  assured  him.  "She  has  had  some  well- 
known  guests  before  now." 

"True,  monsieur.     More  than  one  of  them  have  been 


136    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

world-famous  and — well — believed  to  be  perfectly  hon- 
est and  upright." 

"Yes,"  laughed  Vervoort.  "Do  you  remember  the 
English  ex-member  of  Parliament?" 

"Ah !  He  was  with  me  nearly  four  months  when  sup- 
posed to  be  in  South  America.  There  was  a  warrant 
out  for  him  on  account  of  some  great  financial  frauds — 
all  of  which  was,  of  course,  hushed  up.  But  he  stayed 
here  in  strict  concealment  until  his  friends  managed  to 
get  the  warrant  withdrawn.  He  was  known  to  II  Pas- 
sero, and  the  latter  aided  him — in  return  for  certain 
facilities  regarding  the  English  police." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  English  police,  madame?" 
Hugh  asked.  The  fat  v/oman  grinned  expressively  and 
shrugged  her  broad  shoulders. 

"Since  the  war  they  have  been  effete  as  regards  seri- 
ous crime.  At  least,  that  is  what  II  Passero  told  me  when 
he  was  here  a  month  ago." 

"Someone  is  coming  here  to  meet  Monsieur  Hen- 
frey,"  Vervoort  said.    "Who  is  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  only  received  word  of  it  the  day 
before  yesterday.    A  messenger  from  London,  I  believe." 

"Well,  each  day  I  become  more  and  more  mystified," 
Hugh  declared.  "Why  II  Passero,  whom  I  do  not  know, 
should  take  all  this  interest  in  me,  I  cannot  imagine." 

"II  Passero  very  often  assists  those  against  whom  a 
false  charge  is  laid,"  the  woman  remarked.  "There  is 
no  better  friend  when  one  is  in  trouble,  for  so  clever  and 
ubiquitous  is  he,  and  so  many  friends  in  high  quarters 
does  he  possess,  that  he  can  usually  work  his  will.  His 
is  the  master-mind,  and  we  obey  without  question." 


TWELFTH  CHAPTER 

THE    STRANGER   IN    BOND    STREET 

As  Dorise  walked  up  Bond  Street,  smartly  dressed, 
next  afternoon,  on  her  way  to  her  dressmaker's,  she  was 
followed  by  a  well-dressed  young  girl  in  black,  dark- 
eyed,  with  well-cut,  refined  features,  and  apparently  a 
lady. 

From  Piccadilly  the  stranger  had  followed  Dorise  un- 
seen, until  at  the  corner  of  Maddox  Street  she  overtook 
her,  and  smiling,  uttered  her  name. 

"Yes,"  responded  Dorise  in  surprise.  "But  I  regret — 
you  have  the  advantage  of  me?" 

"Probably,"  replied  the  stranger.  "Do  you  recollect 
the  bal  blanc  at  Nice  and  a  certain  white  cavalier?  I 
have  a  message  from  him  to  give  you  in  secret." 

"Why  in   secret?"   Dorise   asked   rather   defiantly. 

"Well — for  certain  reasons  which  I  think  you  can 
guess,"  answered  the  girl  in  black,  as  she  strolled  at 
Dorise's  side. 

"Why  did  you  call  on  me  at  home?" 

"Because  of  your  mother.  She  would  probably  have 
been  a  little  inquisitive.  Let  us  go  into  some  place — 
a  tea-room — where  we  can  talk,"  she  suggested.  "I  have 
come  to  see  you  concerning  Mr.  Henfrey." 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Dorise.  in  an  instant  anxious. 

"Quite  safe.  He  arrived  in  Malines  yesterday — and 
is  with  friends." 

"Has  he  had  my  letters?" 

"Unfortunately,  no.    But  do  not  let  us  talk  here.    Let's 

i37 


138    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

go  in  yonder,"  and  she  indicated  the  Laurel  Tea  Rooms, 
which,  the  hour  being  early,  they  found,  to  their  satis- 
faction, practically  deserted. 

At  a  table  in  the  far  corner  they  resumed  their  con- 
versation. 

"Why  has  he  not  received  my  letters?"  asked  Dorise. 
"It  is  nearly  a  month  ago  since  I  first  wrote." 

"By  some  mysterious  means  the  police  got  to  know  of 
your  friend's  intended  visit  to  Brussels  to  obtain  his 
letters.  Therefore,  it  was  too  dangerous  for  him  to  go 
to  the  Poste  Restante,  or  even  to  send  anyone  there.  The 
Brussels  police  were  watching  constantly.  How  they 
have  gained  their  knowledge  is  a  complete  mystery." 

"Who  sent  you  to  me  ?" 

"A  friend  of  Mr.  Henfrey.  My  instructions  are  to 
see  you,  and  to  convey  any  message  you  may  wish  to  send 
to  Mr.  Henfrey  to  him  direct  in  Malines." 

"I'm  sure  it's  awfully  good  of  you,"  Dorise  replied. 
"Does  he  know  you  are  here?" 

"Yes.  But  I  have  not  met  him.  I  am  simply  a  mes- 
senger. In  fact,  I  travel  far  and  wide  for  those  who 
employ  me." 

"And  who  are  they?" 

"I  regret,  but  they  must  remain  nameless,"  said  the 
girl,  with  a  smile. 

Dorise  was  puzzled  as  to  how  the  French  police  could 
have  gained  any  knowledge  of  Hugh's  intentions.  Then 
suddenly,  she  became  horrified  as  a  forgotten  fact  flashed 
across  her  mind.  She  recollected  how,  early  in  the  grey 
morning,  after  her  return  from  the  ball  at  Nice,  she  had 
written  and  addressed  a  letter  to  Hugh.  On  reflection, 
she  had  realized  that  it  was  not  sufficiently  reassuring,  so 
she  had  torn  it  up  and  thrown  it  into  the  waste-paper  bas- 
ket instead  of  burning  it. 


THE  STRANGER  IN  BOND  STREET      139 

She  had,  she  remembered,  addressed  the  envelope  to 
Mr.  Godfrey  Brown,  at  the  Poste  Restante  in  Brussels. 

Was  it  possible  that  the  torn  fragments  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  police?  She  knew  that  they  had  been 
watching  her  closely.  Her  surmise  was,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  correct  one.  Ogier  had  employed  the  head 
chambermaid  to  give  him  the  contents  of  Dorise's  waste- 
paper  basket  from  time  to  time,  hence  the  knowledge  he 
had  gained. 

"Are  you  actually  going  to  Malines?"  asked  Dorise 
of  the  girl. 

"Yes.  As  your  messenger,"  the  other  replied  with  a 
smile.  "I  am  leaving  to-night.  If  you  care  to  write  him 
a  letter,  I  will  deliver  it." 

"Will  you  come  with  me  over  to  the  Empress  Club, 
and  I  will  write  the  letter  there?"  Dorise  suggested,  still 
entirely  mystified. 

To  this  the  stranger  agreed,  and  they  left  the  tea- 
shop  and  walked  together  to  the  well-known  ladies'  club, 
where,  while  the  mysterious  messenger  sipped  tea,  Dorise 
sat  down  and  wrote  a  long  and  affectionate  letter  to  her 
lover,  urging  him  to  exercise  the  greatest  caution  and  to 
get  back  to  London  as  soon  as  he  could. 

When  she  had  finished  it,  she  placed  it  in  an  envelope. 

"I  would  not  address  it,"  remarked  the  other  girl.  "It 
will  be  safer  blank,  for  I. shall  give  it  into  his  hand." 

And  ten  minutes  later  the  mysterious  girl  departed, 
leaving  Dorise  to  reflect  over  the  curious  encounter. 

So  Hugh  was  in  Malines.  She  went  to  the  telephone, 
rang  up  Walter  Brock,  and  told  him  the  reassuring 
news. 

"In  Malines!"  he  cried  over  the  wire.  "I  wonder  if  I 
dare  go  there  to  see  him?    What  a  dead-alive  hole!" 

Not  until  then  did  Dorise  recollect  that  the  girl  had 


140    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

not  given  her  Hugh's  address.  She  had,  perhaps,  pur- 
posely withheld  it. 

This  fact  she  told  Hugh's  friend,  who  replied  over  the 
wire: 

"Well,  it  is  highly  satisfactory  news,  in  any  case.  We 
can  only  wait,  Miss  Ranscomb.  But  this  must  relieve 
your  mind,  I  feel  sure." 

"Yes,  it  does,"  admitted  Dorise,  and  a  few  moments 
later  she  rang  off. 

That  evening  II  Passero's  chic  messenger  crossed  from 
Dover  to  Ostend,  and  next  morning  she  called  at  Madame 
Maupoil's,  in  Malines,  where  she  delivered  Dorise's  note 
into  Hugh's  own  hand.  She  was  an  expert  and  hardened 
traveller. 

Hugh  eagerly  devoured  its  contents,  for  it  was  the 
first  communication  he  had  had  from  her  since  that 
fateful  night  at  Monte  Carlo.  Then,  having  thanked 
the  girl  again  and  again,  the  latter  said : 

"If  you  wish  to  write  back  to  Miss  Ranscomb,  do  so. 
I  will  address  the  envelope,  and  as  I  am  going  to  Cologne 
to-night  I  will  post  it  on  my  arrival." 

Hugh  thanked  her  cordially,  and  while  she  sat  chatting 
with  Madame  Maupoil,  sipping  her  cafe  au  hit,  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  long  letter  to  the  girl  he  loved  so 
deeply — a  letter  which  reached  its  destination  four  days 
later. 

One  morning,  about  ten  days  afterwards,  when  the 
sun  shone  brightly  upon  the  fresh  green  of  the  Surrey 
hills,  Mrs.  Bond  was  sitting  before  the  fire  in  the  pretty 
morning  room  at  Shapley  Manor,  a  room  filled  with 
antique  furniture  and  old  blue  china,  reading  an  illus- 
trated paper.  At  the  long,  leaded  window  stood  a  tall, 
fair-haired  girl  in  a  smart  navy-blue  suit.  She  was  de- 
cidedly pretty,  with  large,  soft  grey  eyes,  dimpled  cheeks, 


THE  STRANGER  IN  BOND  STREET      141 

and  a  small,  well-formed  mouth.  She  gazed  abstractedly 
out  of  the  window  over  the  beautiful  panorama  to  where 
Hindhead  rose  abruptly  in  the  blue  distance.  The  view 
from  the  moss-grown  terrace  at  Shapley,  high  upon  the 
Hog's  back,  was  surely  one  of  the  finest  within  a  couple 
of  hundred  miles  of  London. 

Since  Mrs.  Bond's  arrival  there  she  had  had  many 
callers  among  the  nouveau  riche,  those  persons  who, 
having  made  money  at  the  expense  of  our  gallant  British 
soldiers,  have  now  ousted  half  the  county  families  from 
their  solid  and  responsible  homes.  Mrs.  Bond,  being 
wealthy,  had  displayed  her  riches  ostentatiously.  She 
had  subscribed  lavishly  to  charities  both  in  Guildford  and 
in  Farnham,  and  hence,  among  her  callers  there  had 
been  at  least  three  magistrates  and  their  flat-footed 
wives,  as  well  as  a  plethoric  alderman,  and  half  a  dozen 
insignificant  persons  possessing  minor  titles. 

The  display  of  wealth  had  always  been  one  of  Molly 
Maxwell's  games.  It  always  paid.  She  knew  that  to 
succeed  one  must  spend,  and  now,  with  her  recently  ac- 
quired "fortune,"  she  spent  to  a  very  considerable  tune. 

"I  do  wish  you'd  go  in  the  car  to  Guildford  and  ex- 
change those  library  books,  Louise,"  exclaimed  the  hand- 
some woman,  suddenly  looking  up  from  her  paper. 
"We've  got  those  horrid  Brailsfords  coming  to  lunch.  I 
was  bound  to  ask  them  back." 

"Can't  you  come,  too?"  asked  the  girl. 

"No.     I  expect  Mr.  Benton  this  morning." 

"I  didn't  know  he  was  back  from  Paris.  I'm  so  glad 
he's  coming,"  replied  the  girl.  "He'll  stay  all  the  after- 
noon, of  course?" 

"I  hope  so.  Go  at  once  and  get  back  as  soon  as  you 
can,  dear.    Choose  me  some  nice  new  books,  won't  you?" 

Louise  Lambert,   Benton's   adopted   daughter,  turned 


142    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

from  the  leaded  window.  In  the  strong  morning  light 
she  looked  extremely  charming,  but  upon  her  countenance 
there  was  a  deep,  thoughtful  expression,  as  though  she 
were  entirely  preoccupied. 

"I've  been  thinking  of  Hugh  Henfrey,"  the  woman 
remarked  suddenly.  "I  wonder  why  he  never  writes  to 
you?"  she  added,  watching  the  girl's  face. 

Louise's  cheeks  reddened  slightly,  as  she  replied  with 
affected  carelessness : 

"If  he  doesn't  care  to  write,  I  shall  trouble  no  longer." 

"He's  still  abroad,  is  he  not?  The  last  I  heard  of  him 
was  that  he  was  at  Monte  Carlo  with  that  Ranscomb 
girl." 

Mention  of  Dorise  Ranscomb  caused  the  girl's  cheeks 
to  colour  more  deeply. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  heard  that  also." 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  very  much,  Louise,"  remarked 
the  woman.  "And  yet,  he's  such  an  awfully  nice  young 
fellow." 

"You've  said  that  dozens  of  times  before,"  was 
Louise's  abrupt  reply. 

"And  I  mean  it.  You  could  do  a  lot  worse  than  marry 
him,  remember,  though  he  is  a  bit  hard-up  nowadays. 
But  things  with  him  will  right  themselves  before 
long." 

"Why  do  you  suggest  that?"  asked  the  girl  resentfully. 

"Well — because,  my  dear,  I  know  that  you  are  very 
fond  of  him,"  the  woman  laughed.  "Now,  you  can't 
deny  it — can  you?" 

The  girl,  who  had  travelled  so  widely  ever  since  she 
had  left  school,  drew  a  deep  breath  and,  turning  her  head, 
gazed  blankly  out  of  the  window  again. 

What  Mrs.  Bond  had  said  was  her  secret.  She  was 
very  fond  of  Hugh.     They  had  not  met  very  often,  but 


THE  STRANGER  IN  BOND  STREET       143 

he  had  attracted  her — a  fact  of  which  both  Benton  and 
his  female  accomplice  were  well  aware. 

"You  don't  reply,"  laughed  the  woman  for  whom 
the  Paris  Surete  was  searching  everywhere ;  "but  your 
face  betrays  the  truth,  my  dear.  Don't  worry,"  she 
added  in  a  tone  of  sympathy.  "No  doubt  he'll  write  as 
soon  as  he  is  back  in  England.  Personally,  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  really  cares  a  rap  for  the  Ranscomb  girl.  It's 
only  a  matter  of  money — and  Dorise  has  plenty." 

"I  don't  wish  to  hear  anything  about  Mr.  Henfrey's 
love  affairs !"  cried  the  girl  petulantly.  "I  tell  you  that 
they  do  not  interest  me." 

"Because  you  are  piqued  that  he  does  not  write,  child. 
Ah,  dear,  1  know !"  she  laughed,  as  the  girl  left  the 
room. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Louise  was  seated  in  the 
car,  while  Mead  drove  her  along  the  broad  highway  over 
the  Hog's  Back  into  Guildford.  The  morning  was  de- 
lightful, the  trees  wore  their  spring  green,  and  all  along 
in  the  fields,  as  they  went  over  the  high  ridge,  the  larks 
were  singing  gaily  the  music  of  a  glad  morning  of  the 
English  spring,  and  the  view  spread  wide  on  either  side. 

Life  in  Surrey  was,  she  found,  much  preferable  to  that 
on  the  Continent.  True,  in  the  Rue  Racine  they  had 
entertained  a  great  deal,  and  she  had,  during  the  war, 
met  many  very  pleasant  young  English  and  American 
officers;  but  the  sudden  journey  to  Switzerland,  then  on 
into  Italy,  and  across  to  New  York,  had  been  a  whirl 
of  excitement.  Mrs.  Maxwell  had  changed  her  name 
several  times,  because  she  said  that  she  did  not  want  her 
divorced  husband,  a  ne'er-do-well,  to  know  of  her  where- 
abouts. He  was  for  ever  molesting  her,  she  had  told 
Louise,  and  for  that  reason  she  had  passed  in  different 
names. 


144    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

The  girl  was  in  complete  ignorance  of  the  truth.  She 
never  dreamed  that  the  source  of  the  woman's  wealth 
was  highly  suspicious,  or  that  the  constant  travelling  was 
in  order  to  evade  the  police. 

As  she  was  driven  along,  she  sat  back  reflecting.  Truth 
to  tell,  she  was  much  in  love  with  Hugh.  Benton  had 
first  introduced  him  one  night  at  the  Spa  in  Scarborough, 
and  after  that  they  had  met  several  times  on  the  Espla- 
nade, then  again  in  London,  and  once  in  Paris.  Yet  while 
she,  on  her  part,  became  filled  with  admiration,  he  was, 
apparently,  quite  unconscious  of  it. 

At  last  she  had  heard  of  Hugh's  infatuation  for  Dorise 
Ranscomb,  the  daughter  of  the  great  engineer  who  had 
recently  died,  and  indeed  she  had  met  her  once  and  been 
introduced  to  her. 

Of  the  conditions  of  old  Mr.  Henfrey's  will  she  was, 
of  course,  in  ignorance.  The  girl  had  no  idea  of  the 
great  plot  which  had  been  formed  by  her  foster  father 
and  his  clever  female   friend. 

The  world  is  a  strange  one  beneath  the  surface  of 
things.  Those  who  passed  the  imposing  gates  of  the 
beautiful  old  English  manor-house  never  dreamed  that  it 
sheltered  one  of  the  most  notorious  female  criminals 
in  Europe.  And  the  worshipful  ma  o-jsf  rates  and  their 
wives  who  visited  her  would  have  received  a  rude  shock 
had  they  but  known.  But  many  modern  adventuresses 
have  been  able  to  bamboozle  the  mighty.  Madame  Hum- 
bert of  Paris,  in  whose  imagination  were  "The  Humbert 
Millions,"  used  to  entertain  Ministers  of  State,  aristo- 
crats, financiers,  and  others  of  lower  degree,  and  show 
them  the  sealed-up  safe  in  which  she  declared  reposed 
millions'  worth  of  negotiable  securities  which  might  not 
see  the  light  of  day  until  a  certain  date.  The  avaricious, 
even  shrewd,  bankers  advanced  loans  upon  things  they 


THE  STRANGER  IN  BOND  STREET       145 

had  never  seen,  and  the  Humberts  were  the  most  sought- 
after  family  in  Paris  until  the  bubble  burst  and  they  fled 
and  were  afterwards  arrested  in  Spain. 

Molly  Maxwell  was  a  marvel  of  ingenuity,  of  criminal 
foresight,  and  of  amazing  elusiveness.  Louise,  young 
and  unsuspicious,  looked  upon  her  as  a  mother.  Benton 
she  called  "Uncle,"  and  was  always  grateful  to  him  for 
all  he  did  for  her.  She  understood  that  they  were 
cousins,  and  that  Benton  advised  Mrs.  Maxwell  in  her 
disastrous  matrimonial  affairs. 

Yet  the  life  she  had  led  ever  since  leaving  school  had 
been  a  truly  adventurous  one.  She  had  been  in  half  the 
watering  places  of  Europe,  and  in  most  of  its  capitals, 
leading,  with  the  woman  who  now  called  herself  Mrs. 
Bond,  a  most  extravagant  life  at  hotels  of  the  first  order. 

The  car  at  last  ran  into  the  station  yard  at  Guildford, 
and  at  the  bookstall  Louise  exchanged  her  books  with  the 
courteous  manager. 

She  was  passing  through  the  booking-office  back  to  the 
car,  when  a  voice  behind  her  called : 

"Hallo,  Louise!" 

Turning,  she  found  her  "uncle,"  Charles  Benton,  who, 
wearing  a  light  overcoat  and  grey  velour  hat,  grasped  her 
hand. 

"Well,  dear,"  he  exclaimed.  "This  is  fortunate.  Mead 
is  here,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  uncle,"  replied  the  girl,  much  gratified  at  meet- 
ing him. 

"I  was  about  to  engage  a  taxi  to  take  me  up  to  the 
Manor,  but  now  you  can  take  me  there,"  said  the  rather 
handsome  man.  "How  is  Mrs.  Bond?"  he  asked,  call- 
ing her  by  her  new  name. 

"Quite  well.  She's  expecting  you  to  lunch.  But  she 
has   some   impossible   people   there   to-day — the   Brails- 


146    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

fords,  father,  mother,  and  son.  He  made  his  money  in 
motor-cars  during  the  war.  They  live  over  at  Dorking 
in  a  house  with  forty-nine  bedrooms,  and  only  fifteen 
years  ago  Mrs.  Brailsford  used  to  do  the  housework  her- 
self. Now  they're  rolling  in  money,  but  can't  keep  serv- 
ants." 

"Ah,  my  dear,  it's  the  same  everywhere,"  said  Benton 
as  he  entered  the  car  after  her.  "I've  just  got  back  from 
Madrid.  It  is  the  same  there.  The  world  is  changing. 
Crooks  prosper  while  white  men  starve.  Honesty  spells 
ruin  in  these  days." 

They  drove  over  the  railway  bridge  and  up  the  steep 
hill  out  of  Guildford  seated  side  by  side.  Benton  had 
been  her  "uncle"  ever  since  her  childhood  days,  and  a 
most  kind  and  considerate  one  he  had  always  proved. 

Sometimes  when  at  school  she  did  not  see  him  for 
periods  of  a  year  or  more,  and  she  had  no  home  to  go 
to  for  holidays.  Her  foster-father  was  abroad.  Yet 
her  school  fees  were  paid  regularly,  her  allowance  had 
been  ample,  and  her  clothes  were  always  slightly  better 
than  those  of  the  other  girls.  Therefore,  though  she 
called  him  "uncle,"  she  looked  upon  Benton  as  her  father 
and  obeyed  all  his  commands. 

Just  about  noon  the  car  swung  into  the  gates  of 
Shapley,  and  soon  they  were  indoors.  Benton  threw 
off"  his  coat,  and  in  an  abrupt  manner  said  to  the  servant : 

"I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Bond  at  once." 

Then,  turning  to  Louise,  he  exclaimed : 

"I  want  to  see  Molly  privately.  I  have  some  urgent 
business  to  discuss  with  her  before  your  profiteer  friends 
arrive." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  girl  cheerily.  "I'll  leave  you 
alone,"  and  she  ascended  the  broad  oak  staircase,  the 


THE  STRANGER  IN  BOND  STREET       147 

steps  of  which  were  worn  thin  by  the  tramp  of  many- 
generations. 

A  few  moments  later  Charles  Benton  stood  in  the 
morning-room,  where  Mrs.  Bond  still  sat  before  the  wel- 
come log  fire. 

"Back  again,  Charles !"  she  exclaimed,  rising  to  greet 
him.    "Well,  how  goes  it?" 

"Not  too  well,"  was  his  reply  as  he  closed  the  door. 
"I  only  got  back  last  night.  Five  days  ago  I  saw  The 
Sparrow  at  the  Palace  Hotel  in  Madrid.  He's  doing 
all  he  can  in  young  Henfrey's  interests,  but  he  is  not  too 
hopeful." 

"Why?" 

"I  can't  make  out,"  said  the  man,  apparently  much 
perturbed.  "He  wired  me  to  go  to  Madrid,  and  I  went. 
But  it  seems  that  I've  been  on  a  fool's  errand." 

"That's  very  unsatisfactory,"  said  the  woman. 

"It  is,  my  dear  Molly !  From  his  attitude  it  seemed 
to  me  that  he  is  protecting  Henf rey  from  some  secret  mo- 
tive of  his  own — one  that  is  not  at  all  in  accordance  with 
our  plans." 

"But  he  is  surely  acting  in  our  interests !" 

"Ah !    I'm  not  so  sure  about  that." 

"You  surprise  me.  He  knows  our  intentions  and 
approved  of  them !" 

"His  approval  has,  I  think,  been  upset  by  the  murder- 
ous attack  upon  Yvonne." 

"But  he  surely  will  not  act  against  us !    If  he  does " 

"If  he  does — th/m  we  may  as  well  throw  up  the  sponge, 
Molly." 

"We  could  give  it  all  away  to  the  police,"  remarked 
the  woman. 

"And  by  so  doing  give  ourselves  away!"  answered 


148    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Benton.  "The  Sparrow  has  many  friends  in  the  police, 
recollect.  Abroad,  he  distributes  a  quantity  of  annual 
douceurs,  and  hence  he  is  practically  immune  from  ar- 
rest." 

"I  wish  we  were,"  laughed  the  handsome  adventuress 

"Yes.  We  have  only  to  dance  to  his  tune,"  said  he. 
"And  the  tune  just  now  is  not  one  which  is  pleasing  to 
us— eh?" 

"You  seem  strangely  apprehensive." 

"I  am.  I  believe  that  The  Sparrow,  while  making 
pretence  of  supporting  our  little  affair,  is  in  favour  of 
Hugh's  marriage  with  Dorise  Ranscomb." 

The  woman  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"He  could  never  go  back  on  his  word !"  she  declared. 

"The  Sparrow  is  a  curious  combination  of  the  crook 
— chivalrous  and  philanthropic — as  you  already  know." 

"But  surely,  he  wouldn't  let  us  down?" 

Benton  paused.  He  was  thinking  deeply.  A  certain 
fact  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him. 

"If  he  does,  then  we  must,  I  suppose,  do  our  best  to 
expose  him.  I  happen  to  know  that  he  has  quarrelled 
with  Henri  Michaux,  the  under-secretary  of  the  Surete 
in  Paris,  who  has  declared  that  his  payment  is  not  suffi- 
cient. Michaux  is  anxious  to  get  even  with  him.  A 
word  from  us  would  result  in  The  Sparrow's  arrest." 

"Excellent!"  exclaimed  Molly.  "If  we  fail  we  can, 
after  all,  have  our  revenge.  But,"  she  added,  "would  not 
he  suspect  us  both,  and,  in  turn,  give  us  away?" 

"No.  He  will  never  suspect,  my  dear  Molly.  Leave 
it  to  me.  Are  we  not  his  dearest  and  most  trusted 
friends?"  and  the  man,  who  was  as  keenly  sought  by  the 
police  of  Europe,  grinned  sardonically  and  took  a  ciga- 
rette from  the  big  silver  box  on  the  little  table  at  his 
elbow. 


THIRTEENTH  CHAPTER 

POISONED    LIPS 

Week  after  week  had  passed. 

Spring  was  slowly  developing  into  summer  and  the 
woods  around  Blairglas,  the  fine  estate  in  Perthshire 
which  old  Sir  Richard  Ranscomb  had  left  to  his  wife, 
were  delightful. 

Blairglas  Castle,  a  grand  old  turreted  pile,  was  perched 
on  the  edge  of  a  wooded  glen  through  which  flowed  a 
picturesque  burn  well  known  to  tourists  in  Scotland. 
Once  Blairglas  Burn  had  been  a  mighty  river  which  had, 
in  the  bygone  ages,  worn  its  way  deep  through  the  grey 
granite  down  to  the  broad  Tay  and  onward  to  the  sea. 
On  the  estate  was  some  excellent  salmon-fishing,  as  well 
as  grouse  on  Blairglas  Moor,  and  trout  in  Blairglas 
Loch.  Here  Lady  Ranscomb  entertained  her  wealthy 
Society  friends,  and  certainly  she  did  so  lavishly  and 
well.  Twice  each  year  she  went  up  for  the  fishing  and 
for  the  shooting.  Old  Sir  Richard,  notwithstanding  his 
gout,  had  been  fond  of  sport,  and  for  that  reason  he  had 
given  a  fabulous  price  for  the  place,  which  had  belonged 
to  a  certain  Duke  who,  like  others,  had  become  impover- 
ished by  excessive  taxation  and  the  death  duties. 

Built  in  the  fifteenth  century  as  a  fortress,  it  was,  for 
a  time,  the  home  of  James  V.  after  his  marriage  with 
Mary  of  Guise.  It  was  to  Blairglas  that,  after  his  defeat 
on  Solway  Moss,  he  retired,  subsequently  dying  of  a 
broken  heart.  Twenty  years  later  Darnley,  the  elegant 
husband  of  Marie  Stuart,  had  lived  there,  and  on  the 

149 


ISO    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

level  bowling  green  he  used  to  indulge  in  his  favourite 
sport. 

The  grim  old  place,  with  its  towers,  its  dimly-lit  long 
stone  corridors,  cyclopean  ivy-clad  walls,  narrow  win- 
dows, and  great  panelled  chambers,  breathed  an  atmos- 
phere of  the  long  ago.  So  extensive  was  it  that  only 
one  wing — that  which  looked  far  down  the  glen  to  the 
blue  distant  mountains — had  been  modernised;  yet  that, 
in  itself,  was  sufficiently  spacious  for  the  entertainment 
of  large  house-parties. 

One  morning,  early  in  June,  Dorise,  in  a  rough  tweed 
suit  and  a  pearl-grey  suede  tam-o'shanter,  carrying  a 
mackintosh  across  her  shoulder,  and  accompanied  by  a 
tall,  dark-haired,  clean-shaven  man  of  thirty-two,  with 
rather  thick  lips  and  bushy  eyebrows,  walked  down 
through  the  woods  to  the  river.  The  man,  who  was  in 
fishing  clothes,  sauntered  at  her  side,  smoking  a  cigarette ; 
while  behind  them  came  old  Sandy  Murray,  the  grizzled, 
fair-bearded  head  keeper,  carrying  the  salmon  rods,  the 
gaff,  creel,  and  luncheon  basket. 

"The  spate  is  excellent  for  us,"  exclaimed  George 
Sherrard.     "We  ought  to  kill  a  salmon  to-day,  Dorise." 

"I  sincerely  hope  so,"  replied  the  girl ;  "but  somehow  I 
never  have  any  luck  in  these  days." 

"No,  you  really  don't!  But  Marjorie  killed  a  twelve- 
pounder  last  week,  your  mother  tells  me." 

"Yes.  She  went  out  with  Murray  every  day  for  a 
whole  fortnight,  and  then  on  the  day  before  she  went 
back  to  town  she  landed  a  splendid  fish." 

On  arrival  at  the  bank  of  the  broad  shallow  Tay, 
Murray  stepped  forward,  and  in  his  pleasant  Perthshire 
accent  suggested  that  a  trial  might  be  made  near  the 
Ardcraig,  a  short  walk  to  the  left. 

After   fixing   the    rods   and   baiting   them,   the   head 


POISONED  LIPS  151 

keeper  discreetly  withdrew,  leaving  the  pair  alone.  In 
the  servants'  hall  at  Blairglas  it  was  quite  understood  that 
Miss  Dorise  and  Mr.  Sherrard  were  to  marry,  and  that 
the  announcement  would  be  made  in  due  course. 

"What  a  lovely  day — and  what  a  silent,  delightful 
spot,"  Sherrard  remarked,  as  he  filled  his  pipe  prepara- 
tory to  walking  up-stream,  while  the  girl  remained  be- 
side the  great  dark  pool  where  sport  seemed  likely. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  inwardly  wishing  to  get  rid  of  her 
companion  so  as  to  be  left  alone  with  her  own  thoughts. 
"I'll  remain  here  for  a  little  and  then  go  down-stream  to 
the  end  of  our  water." 

"Right  oh !"  he  replied  cheerily  as  he  moved  away. 

Dorise  breathed  more  freely  when  he  had  gone. 

George  Sherrard  had  arrived  from  London  quite  unex- 
pectedly at  nine  o'clock  on  the  previous  morning.  She 
had  been  alone  with  her  mother  after  the  last  guest  of  a 
gay  house-party  had  departed,  when,  unknown  to  Dorise, 
Lady  Ranscomb  had  telegraphed  to  her  friend  George 
to  "run  up  for  a  few  days'  fishing." 

Lady  Ranscomb's  scheme  was  to  throw  the  pair  into 
each  other's  society  as  much  as  possible.  She  petted 
George,  flattered  him,  and  in  every  way  tried  to  entertain 
him  with  one  sole  object,  namely,  to  induce  him  to  pro- 
pose to  Dorise,  and  so  get  the  girl  "off  her  hands." 

On  the  contrary,  the  girl's  thoughts  were  for  ever 
centred  upon  Hugh,  even  though  he  remained  under  that 
dark  cloud  of  suspicion.  To  her  the  chief  element  in 
the  affair  was  the  mystery  why  her  lover  had  gone  on 
that  fateful  night  to  the  Villa  Amette,  the  house  of  that 
notorious  Mademoiselle.    What  had  really  occurred  ? 

Twice  she  had  received  letters  from  him  brought  to 
her  by  the  mysterious  girl-messenger  from  Belgium. 
From  them  she  knew  how  grey  and  dull  was  his  life, 


152    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

hiding  there  from  those  who  were  so  intent  upon  his 
arrest. 

Indeed,  within  her  blouse  she  carried  his  last  letter 
which  she  had  received  three  weeks  before  when  in 
London — a  letter  in  which  he  implored  her  not  to  mis- 
judge him,  and  in  which  he  promised  that,  as  soon  as 
he  dared  to  leave  his  hiding-place  and  meet  her,  he  would 
explain  everything.  In  return,  she  had  again  written  to 
him,  but  though  three  weary  weeks  had  passed,  she  had 
received  no  word  in  reply.  She  could  neither  write  by 
post,  nor  could  she  telegraph.  It  was  far  too  dangerous. 
In  addition,  his  address  had  been  purposely  withheld 
from  her. 

Walter  Brock  had  tried  to  ascertain  it.  He  had  even 
seen  the  mysterious  messenger  on  her  last  visit  to  Eng- 
land, but  she  had  refused  point-blank,  declaring  that  she 
had  been  ordered  to  disclose  nothing.  She  was  merely 
a  messenger. 

That  her  correspondence  was  still  being  watched  by 
the  police,  Dorise  was  quite  well  aware.  Her  maid, 
Duncan,  had  told  her  in  confidence  quite  recently  that 
while  crossing  Berkeley  Square  one  evening  she  had  been 
accosted  by  a  good-looking  young  man  who,  having 
pressed  his  attentions  upon  her,  had  prevailed  upon  her 
to  meet  him  on  the  following  evening. 

He  then  took  her  to  dinner  to  a  restaurant  in  Soho, 
and  to  the  pictures  afterwards.  They  had  met  half  a 
dozen  times,  when  he  began  to  cleverly  question  her 
concerning  her  mistress,  asking  whether  she  had  letters 
from  her  gentlemen  friends.  At  this  Duncan  had  grown 
suspicious,  and  she  had  not  met  the  young  fellow 
since. 

That,  in  itself,  showed  her  that  the  police  were  bent 
on  discovering  and  arresting  Hugh. 


POISONED  LIPS  153 

The  great  mystery  of  it  all  was  why  Hugh  should 
have  gone  deliberately  and  clandestinely  to  the  Villa 
Amette  on  the  night  of  the  tragic  affair. 

Dorise  was  really  an  expert  in  casting  a  fly ;  also  she 
excelled  in  several  branches  of  sport.  She  was  a  splendid 
tennis-player,  she  rode  well  to  hounds,  and  was  very 
fair  at  golf.  But  that  morning  she  had  no  heart  for 
fishing,  and  especially  in  such  company.  She  despised 
George  Sherrard  as  a  prig,  fond  of  boasting  of  his 
means,  and,  indeed,  so  terribly  self-conscious  was  he  that 
in  many  circles  he  was  declared  impossible.  Men  dis- 
liked him  for  his  swagger  and  conceit,  and  women 
despised  him  for  his  superior  attitude  towards  them. 

For  a  full  hour  Dorise  continued  making  casts,  but  in 
vain.  She  changed  her  flies  once  or  twice,  until  at  last, 
by  a  careless  throw,  she  got  her  tackle  hooked  high  in  a 
willow,  with  the  result  that,  in  endeavouring  to  extricate 
it,  she  broke  off  the  hook.  Then,  with  an  ejaculation  of 
impatience,  she  wound  up  her  line  and  threw  her  rod 
upon  the  grass. 

"Hallo,  Dorise!"  cried  a  voice.     "No  luck,  eh?" 

Sherrard  had  returned  and  had  witnessed  her  out- 
break of  impatience. 

"None!"  she  snapped,  for  the  loss  of  her  fly  annoyed 
her.  She  knew  that  she  had  been  careless,  because  under 
old  Murray's  careful  tuition  she  had  become  quite  ex- 
pert with  the  rod,  both  with  trout  and  salmon. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said,  "I've  had  similar  luck.  I've 
just  got  hooked  up  in  a  root  and  lost  a  fly.  Let's  have 
lunch — shall   we?" 

Dorise  was  in  no  mood  to  lunch  with  her  mother's 
visitor,  but,  nevertheless,  was  compelled  to  be  polite. 

After  washing  their  hands  in  the  stream,  they  sat  down 
together  upon  a  great,  grey  boulder  that  had  been  worn 


154    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

smooth   by   the   action    of   the   water,    and,   taking   out 
their  sandwiches,  began  to  eat  them. 

"Oh,  I  say!"  exclaimed  Sherrard  suddenly,  after  they 
had  been  gossiping  for  some  time.  "Have  you  heard 
from  your  friend  Henfrey  lately?" 

"Not  lately,"  replied  the  girl,  a  trifle  resentful  that 
he  should  obtrude  upon  her  private  affairs. 

"I  only  ask  because — well,  because  there  are  some  jolly 
queer  stories  going  about  town  of  him." 

"Queer  stories !"  she  echoed  quickly.  "What  are 
they?    What  do  people  say?" 

"Oh!  They  say  lots  of  extraordinary  things.  I  think 
your  mother  has  done  very  well  to  drop  him." 

"Has  mother  dropped  him  ?"  asked  the  girl  in  pretence 
of  ignorance. 

"She  told  me  so  last  night,  and  I  was  extremely  glad 
to  hear  it — though  he  is  your  friend.  It  seems  that  he's 
hardly  the  kind  of  fellow  you  should  know,  Dorise." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  his  companion  asked,  her 
eyes  flashing  instantly. 

"What!     Haven't  you  heard?" 
"Heard  what?" 

"The  story  that's  going  round  the  clubs.  He's  missing, 
and  has  been  so  for  quite  a  long  time.  You  haven't  seen 
him — have  you?" 

The  girl  was  compelled  to  reply  in  the  negative. 
"But  what  do  they  say  against  him?"  she  demanded 
breathlessly. 

"There's  a  lot  of  funny  stories,"  was  Sherrard's  reply. 
"They  say  he's  hiding  from  the  police  because  he  at- 
tempted to  murder  a  notorious  woman  called  Made- 
moiselle of  Monte  Carlo.     Do  you  know  about  it?" 

"It's  a  wicked  lie!"  blurted  forth  the  girl.  "Hugh 
never  attempted  to  kill  the  woman !" 


POISONED  LIPS  155 

Sherrard  looked  straight  into  her  blue  eyes,  and  asked : 

"Then  why  was  he  in  her  room  at  midnight?  They 
say  the  reason  Henfrey  is  hard-up  is  because  he  spent  all 
he  possessed  upon  the  woman,  and  on  going  there  that 
night  she  laughed  him  to  scorn  and  told  him  she  had 
grown  fond  of  a  rich  Austrian  banker.  After  mutual 
recriminations,  Henfrey,  knowing  the  woman  had  ruined 
him,  drew  out  a  revolver  and  shot  her." 

"I  tell  you  it's  an  abominable  lie!  Hugh  is  not  an 
assassin !"  cried  the  girl  fiercely. 

"I  merely  repeat  what  I  have  heard  on  very  good 
authority,"  replied  the  smug- faced  man  with  the  thick 
red  lips. 

"And  you  have  of  course  told  my  mother  that — eh?" 

"I  didn't  think  it  was  any  secret,"  he  said.  "Indeed, 
I  think  it  most  fortunate  we  all  know  the  truth.  The 
police  must  get  him  one  day — before  long." 

For  a  few  moments  Dorise  remained  silent,  her  eyes 
fixed  across  the  board  river  to  the  opposite  bank. 

"And  if  they  do,  he  will  most  certainly  clear  himself, 
Mr.  Sherrard,"  she  said  coldly. 

"Ah!  You  still  have  great  faith  in  him,"  he  laughed 
airily.    "Well — we  shall  see,"  and  he  grinned. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Sherrard.  I  still  have  faith  in  Mr.  Henfrey. 
I  know  him  well  enough  to  be  certain  that  he  is  no 
assassin." 

"Then  I  ask  you,  Dorise,  why  is  he  hiding?"  said 
her  companion.    "If  he  is  innocent,  what  can  he  fear?" 

"I  know  he  is  innocent." 

"Of  course.  You  must  remain  in  that  belief  until  he 
is  found  guilty." 

"You  already  condemn  him !"  the  girl  cried  in  anger. 
"By  what  right  do  you  do  this,  I  ask?" 

"Well,  common  sense  shows  that  he  is  in   fear  lest 


156    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

the  truth  should  come  to  light,"  was  Sherrard's  lame 
reply.  "He  escaped  very  cleverly  from  Monte  Carlo  the 
moment  he  heard  that  the  police  suspected  him,  but 
where  is  he  now?  Nobody  knows.  Haynes,  of  Scotland 
Yard,  who  made  the  inquiries  when  my  flat  in  Park  Lane 
was  broken  into,  tells  me  they  have  had  a  description  of 
him  from  the  Paris  police,  and  that  a  general  hue-and- 
cry  has  been  circulated." 

"But  the  woman  is  still  alive,  is  she  not?" 

"Yes.  She's  a  hopeless  idiot,  Haynes  tells  me.  She 
has  developed  homicidal  mania  as  a  result  of  the  bullet 
wound  in  the  head,  and  they  have  had  to  send  her  to  a 
private  asylum  at  Cannes.  She's  there  in  close  con- 
finement." 

Dorise  paused.  Her  anger  had  risen,  and  her  cheeks 
were  flushed.  The  sandwich  she  was  eating  choked  her, 
so  she  cast  it  into  the  river. 

Then  she  rose  abruptly,  and  looking  very  straight  into 
the  man's  eyes,  said: 

"I  consider,  Mr.  Sherrard,  that  you  are  absolutely  hor- 
rid. Mr.  Henfrey  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  whatever 
gossip  there  is  concerning  him  I  will  not  believe  until 
I  hear  his  story  from  his  own  lips." 

"I  merely  tell  you  of  the  report  from  France  to  Scot- 
land Yard,"  said  Sherrard. 

"You  tell  me  this  in  order  to  prejudice  me  against 
Hugh— to— to " 

"Hugh  !     Whom  you  love — eh  ?"  sneered  Sherrard. 

"Yes.  I  do  love  him,"  the  girl  blurted  forth.  "I  make 
no  secret  of  it !  And  if  you  like  you  can  tell  my  mother 
that!     You  are  very  fond  of  acting  as  her  factotum!" 

"It  is  to  be  regretted,  Dorise,  that  you  have  fallen  in 
love  with  a  fellow  who  is  wanted  by  the  police,"  he  re« 
marked  with  a  sigh. 


POISONED  LIPS  157 

"At  any  rate,  I  love  a  real  genuine  man,"  she  retorted 
with  bitter  sarcasm.  "I  know  my  mother's  intention  is 
that  I  shall  marry  you.  But  I  tell  you  here  frankly — as 
I  stand  here — I  would  rather  kill  myself  first!" 

George  Sherrard  with  his  dark  bushy  brows  and  thick 
lips  only  laughed  at  her  indignation.  This  incensed 
her  the  more. 

"Yes,"  she  went  on.  "You  may  be  amused  at  my 
distress.  You  have  laughed  at  the  distress  of  other 
women,  Mr.  Sherrard.  Do  not  think  that  I  am  blind. 
I  have  watched  you,  and  I  know  more  concerning  your 
love  affairs  of  the  past  than  you  ever  dream.  So  please 
leave  Blairglas  as  soon  as  you  can  with  decency  excuse 
yourself,  and  keep  away  from  me  in  future." 

"But  really,  Dorise !"  he  cried,  advancing  towards 

her. 

"I  mean  exactly  what  I  say.  Let  me  get  back.  When 
I  go  fishing  I  prefer  to  go  alone,"  the  girl  said. 

"But  what  am  I  to  say  to  Lady  Ranscomb?" 

"Tell  her  that  I  love  Hugh,"  laughed  the  girl  defiantly. 
"Tell  her  that  I  intend  to  defeat  all  her  clever  intrigues 
and  sly  devices !" 

His  countenance  now  showed  that  he  was  angry.  He 
and  Lady  Ranscomb  thoroughly  understood  each  other. 
He  admired  the  girl,  and  her  mother  had  assured  him 
her  affection  for  Hugh  Henfrey  was  but  a  passing  fancy. 
This  stubborn  outburst  was  to  him  a  complete  revela- 
tion. 

"I  have  no  knowledge  of  any  intrigue,  Dorise,"  he 
said  in  that  bland,  superior  manner  which  always  irri- 
tated her.  She  knew  that  a  dozen  mothers  with  eligible 
feminine  encumbrances  were  trying  to  angle  him,  and 
that  Lady  Ranscomb  was  greatly  envied  by  them.  But 
to  be  the  wife  of  the  self-conscious  ass — well,  as  she 


158    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

had  already  so  bluntly  told  him,  she  would  die  rather 
than  become  Mrs.  George  Sherrard. 

"Intrigue!"  the  girl  retorted.  "Why,  from  first  to 
last  the  whole  thing  is  a  plot  between  my  mother  and 
yourself.  Please  give  me  credit  for  just  a  little  intelli- 
gence. First,  I  despise  you  as  a  coward.  During  the 
war  you  crept  into  a  little  clerkship  in  the  Home  Office 
in  order  to  save  your  precious  skin,  while  Hugh  went 
to  the  front  and  risked  his  life  flying  a  'bomber'  over  the 
enemy's  lines.  You  were  a  miserable  stay-at-home,  hid- 
ing in  your  little  bolt-hole  in  Whitehall  when  the  Zepps 
came  over,  while  Hugh  Henfrey  fought  for  his  King 
and  for  Britain.  Now  I  am  quite  frank,  Mr.  Sher- 
rard. That's  why  I  despise  you !"  and  the  girl's  pale 
face  showed  two  pink  spots  in  the  centre  of  her  cheeks. 

"Really,"  he  said  in  that  same  superior  tone  which  he 
so  constantly  assumed.  "I  must  say  that  you  are  the 
reverse  of  polite,  Miss  Dorise,"  and  his  colour  height- 
ened. 

"I  am !  And  I  intend  to  be  so !"  she  cried  in  a  frenzy, 
for  all  her  affection  for  Hugh  had  in  those  moments  been 
redoubled.  Her  lover  was  accused  and  had  no  chance 
of  self-defence.  "Go  back  to  my  mother,"  she  went  on. 
"Tell  her  every  word  I  have  said  and  embroider  it  as 
much  as  you  like.  Then  you  can  both  put  your  wits 
together  a  little  further.  But,  remember,  I  shall  exert 
my  own  woman's  wits  against  yours.  And  as  soon  as 
you  feel  it  practicable,  I  hope  you  will  leave  Blairglas. 
And  further,  if  you  have  not  left  by  noon  to-morrow,  I 
will  tell  my  maid,  Duncan,  the  whole  story  of  this  sinister 
plot  to  part  me  from  Hugh.  She  will  spread  it,  I  assure 
you.  Maids  gossip — and  to  a  purpose  when  their  mis- 
tresses will  it  so." 

"But  Dorise " 


POISONED  LIPS  159 

"Enough!  Mr.  Sherrard.  I  prefer  to  walk  up  to  the 
Castle  by  myself.  Murray  will  bring  up  the  rods.  Please 
tell  my  mother  what  I  say  when  you  get  back,"  she  added. 
"The  night  train  from  Perth  to  London  leaves  at  nine- 
forty  to-night,"  she  said  with  biting  sarcasm. 

Then  turning,  she  began  to  ascend  the  steep  path  which 
led  from  the  river  bank  into  a  cornfield  and  through  the 
wood,  while  the  man  stood  and  bit  his  lip. 

"H'm !"  he  gic  wled  beneath  his  breath.  "We  shall  see ! 
— yes,  we  shall  see !" 


FOURTEENTH  CHAPTER 

RED   DAWN 

That  night  when  Dorise,  in  a  pretty,  pale-blue  evening 
gown,  entered  the  great,  old,  panelled  dining-room  rather 
late  for  dinner,  her  mother  exclaimed  petulantly : 

"How  late  you  are,  dear !  Mr.  Sherrard  has  had  a 
telegram  recalling  him  to  London.  He  has  to  catch  the 
nine-something  train  from  Perth." 

"Have  you?"  she  asked  the  man  who  was  odious  to 
her.  "I'm  so  sorry  I'm  late,  but  that  Mackenzie  girl 
called.  They  are  getting  up  a  bazaar  for  the  old  people 
down  in  the  village,  and  we  have  to  help  it,  I  suppose. 
Oh !  these  bazaars,  sales  of  work,  and  other  little  excuses 
for  extracting  shillings  from  the  pockets  of  everybody ! 
They  are  most  wearying." 

"She  called  on  me  last  week,"  said  Lady  Ranscomb. 
"Newte  told  her  I  was  not  at  home." 

The  old-fashioned  butler,  John  Newte,  a  white-haired, 
rosy-faced  man,  who  had  seen  forty  years'  service  with 
the  ducal  owner  of  Blairglas,  served  the  dinner  in  his 
own  stately  style.  Sir  Richard  had  been  a  good  master, 
but  things  had  never  been  the  same  since  the  castle  had 
passed  into  its  new  owner's  hands. 

Dorise  endeavoured  to  be  quite  affable  to  the  smooth- 
haired  man  seated  before  her,  expressing  regret  that  he 
was  called  away  so  suddenly,  while  he,  on  his  part,  de- 
clared that  it  was  "awful  hard  luck,"  as  he  had  been 
looking  forward  to  a  week's  good  sport  on  the  river. 

"Do    come    back,    George,"    Lady    Ranscomb    urged. 

160 


RED  DAWN  161 

"Get  your  business  over  and  get  back  here  for  the  week- 
end." 

"I'll  try,"  was  Sherrard's  half-hearted  response, 
whereat  Newte  entered  to  announce  that  the  car  was 
ready. 

Then  he  bade  mother  and  daughter  adieu,  and  went  out. 

Dorise  could  see  that  her  mother  was  considerably  an- 
noyed at  her  plans  being  so  abruptly  frustrated. 

"We  must  ask  somebody  else,"  she  said,  as  they  lin- 
gered over  the  dessert.     "Whom  shall  we  ask?" 

"I  really  don't  care  in  the  least,  mother.  I'm  quite 
happy  here  alone.  It  is  a  rest.  We  shall  have  to  be  back 
in  town  in  a  fortnight,  I  suppose." 

"George  could  quite  well  have  waited  for  a  day  or 
two,"  Lady  Ranscomb  declared.  "I  went  out  to  see  the 
Muirs,  at  Forteviot,  and  when  I  got  back  he  told  me  he 
had  just  had  a  telegram  telling  him  that  it  was  im- 
perative he  should  be  in  town  to-morrow  morning.  I 
persuaded  him  to  stay,  but  he  declared  it  to  be  im- 
possible." 

"An  appointment  with  a  lady,  perhaps,"  laughed 
Dorise  mischievously. 

"WThat  next,  my  dear !  You  know  he  is  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  you !" 

"Oh !  That's  quite  enough,  mother.  You've  told  me 
that  lots  of  times  before.  But  I  tell  you  quite  frankly 
his  love  leaves  me  quite  cold." 

"Ah !  dear.  That  reply  is,  after  all,  but  natural.  You, 
of  course,  won't  confess  the  truth,"  her  mother  laughed. 

"I  do,  mother.  I'm  heartily  glad  the  fellow  has  gone. 
I  hate  his  supercilious  manner,  his  superior  tone,  and  his 
unctuous  bearing.  He's  simply  odious !  That's  my 
opinion." 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  severely  across  the  table. 


162    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Please  remember,  Dorise,  that  George  is  my  friend." 

"I  never  forget  that,"  said  the  girl  meaningly,  as  she 
rose  and  left  the  table. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  she  entered  her  bedroom,  she 
found  Duncan,  her  maid,  awaiting  her. 

"Oh !  I've  been  waiting  to  see  you  this  last  hour, 
miss,"  she  said.  "I  couldn't  get  you  alone.  Just  before 
eight  o'clock,  as  I  was  about  to  enter  the  park  by  the 
side  gate  near  Bervie  Farm,  a  gentleman  approached 
me  and  asked  if  my  name  was  Duncan.  I  told  him  it 
was,  and  then  he  gave  me  this  to  give  to  you  in  secret. 
He  also  gave  me  a  pound  note,  miss,  to  say  nothing 
about  it."  And  the  prim  lady's  maid  handed  her  young 
mistress  a  small  white  envelope  upon  which  her  name 
was  written. 

Opening  it,  she  found  a  plain  visiting  card  which  bore 
the  words  in  a  man's  handwriting : 

"Would  it  be  possible  for  you  to  meet  me  to-night  at 
ten  at  the  spot  where  I  have  given  this  to  your  maid? 
Urgent. — Silverado." 

Dorise  held  her  breath.  It  was  a  message  from  the 
mysterious  white  cavalier  who  had  sought  her  out  at  the 
bal  blanc  at  Nice,  and  told  her  of  Hugh's  peril ! 

Duncan  was  naturally  curious  owing  to  the  effect  the 
card  had  had  upon  her  mistress,  but  she  was  too  well 
trained  to  make  any  comment.  Instead,  she  busied  her- 
self at  the  wardrobe,  and  a  few  moments  afterwards  left 
the  room. 

Dorise  stood  before  the  long  cheval  glass,  the  card  still 
in  her  hand. 

What  did  it  mean?  Why  was  the  mysterious  white 
cavalier  in  Scotland?    At  least  she  would  now  be  able 


RED  DAWN  163 

to  see  his  face.  It  was  past  nine,  and  the  moon  was 
already  shining.  She  had  still  more  than  half  an  hour 
before  she  went  forth  to  meet  the  man  of  mystery. 

She  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  where  her  mother 
was  reading,  and  after  playing  over  a  couple  of  songs 
as  a  camouflage,  she  pretended  to  be  tired  and  announced 
her  intention  of  retiring. 

"We  have  to  go  into  Edinburgh  to-morrow  morning," 
her  mother  remarked.  "So  we  should  start  pretty  early. 
I've  ordered  the  car  for  nine  o'clock." 

"All  right,  mother.  Good-night,"  said  the  girl  as  she 
closed  the  door. 

Then  hastening  to  her  room  she  threw  off  her  dinner 
gown,  and  putting  on  a  coat  and  skirt  and  the  boots 
which  she  had  worn  when  fishing  that  morning,  she  went 
out  by  a  door  which  led  from  the  great  old  library,  with 
its  thousands  of  brown-backed  volumes,  on  to  the  broad 
terrace  which  overlooked  the  glen,  now  a  veritable  fairy- 
land beneath  the  light  of  the  moon. 

Outside  the  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  ripple  of 
the  burn  over  its  pebbles  deep  below,  and  the  cry  of  the 
night-bird  upon  the  steep  rock  whereon  the  historic  old 
castle  was  built.  By  a  path  known  to  her  she  descended 
swiftly,  and  away  into  the  park  by  yet  another  path,  used 
almost  exclusively  by  the  servants  and  the  postman,  down 
to  a  gate  which  led  out  into  the  high  road  to  Perth  by 
one  of  the  farms  on  the  estate,  the  one  known  as  the 
Bervie. 

As  she  was  about  to  pass  through  the  small  swing 
gate,  she  heard  a  voice  which  she  recognized  exclaim : 

"Miss  Ranscomb !  I  have  to  apologize !"  And  from 
the  dark  shadow  a  rather  tall  man  emerged  and  barred 
her  path. 

"I  daresay  you  will  think  this  all  very  mysterious,"  he 


164    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

went  on,  laughing  lightly.  "But  I  do  hope  I  have  not 
inconvenienced  you.  If  so,  pray  accept  my  deepest  apolo-* 
gies.    Will  you  ?" 

"Not  at  all,"  the  girl  replied,  though  somewhat  taken 
abacK  by  the  suddenness  of  the  encounter.  The  man 
spotfe  slowly  and  with  evident  refinement.  His  voice  was 
the  same  she  had  heard  in  Nice  on  that  memorable  night 
of  gaiety.    She  recognized  it  instantly. 

As  he  stood  before  her,  his  countenance  became  re- 
vealed in  the  moonlight,  and  she  saw  a  well-moulded, 
strongly-marked  face,  with  a  pair  of  dark,  penetrating 
eyes,  set  a  little  too  close  perhaps,  but  denoting  strong 
will  and  keen  intelligence. 

"Yes,"  he  laughed.  "Look  at  me  well,  Miss  Rans- 
comb.  I  am  the  white  cavalier  whom  you  last  saw  dis- 
guised by  a  black  velvet  mask.  Look  at  me  again,  be- 
cause perhaps  you  may  wish  to  recognize  me  later  on." 

"And  you  are  still  Mr.  X — eh?"  asked  the  girl,  who 
had  halted,  and  was  gazing  upon  his  rather  striking  face. 

"Still  the  same,"  he  said,  smiling.  "Or  you  may  call 
me  Brown,  Jones,  or  Robinson — or  any  of  the  other 
saints'  names  if  you  prefer." 

"You  have  been  very  kind  to  me.  Surely  I  may  know 
your  real  name  ?" 

"No,  Miss  Ranscomb.  For  certain  very  important 
reasons  I  do  not  wish  to  disclose  it.  Pardon  me — will 
you  not?    I  ask  that  favour  of  you." 

"But  will  you  not  satisfy  my  curiosity?" 

"At  my  personal  risk  ?  No.  I  do  not  think  you  would 
wish  me  to  do  that— eh?"  he  asked  in  a  tone  of  mild 
reproof. 

Then  he  went  on : 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  I  could  not  approach  you  openly. 


RED  DAWN  165 

In  London  I  found  out  that  you  were  up  here,  so  I 
thought  it  best  to  see  you  in  secret.  You  know  why  I 
have  come  to  you,  Miss  Ranscomb — eh?" 

"On  behalf  of  Mr.  Henfrey." 

"Yes.  He  is  still  in  hiding.  It  has  been  impossible — 
through  force  of  circumstances — for  him  to  send  you 
further  messages." 

"Where  is  he  ?    I  want  to  see  him." 

"Have  patience,  Miss  Ranscomb,  and  I  will  arrange  a 
meeting  between  you." 

"But  why  do  the  police  still  search  for  him?" 

"Because  of  an  unfortunate  fact.  The  lady,  Made- 
moiselle Ferad,  is  now  confined  in  a  private  asylum  at 
Cannes,  but  all  the  time  she  raves  furiously  about  Mon- 
sieur Henfrey.  Hence  the  French  police  are  convinced 
that  he  shot  her — and  they  are  determined  upon  his 
arrest." 

"But  do  you  think  he  is  guilty?" 

"I  know  he  is  not.  Yet  by  force  of  adverse  circum- 
stances, he  is  compelled  to  conceal  himself  until  such  time 
that  we  can  prove  his  innocence." 

"Ah!  But  shall  we  ever  be  in  a  position  to  prove 
that?" 

"I  hope  so.  We  must  have  patience — and  still  more 
patience,"  urged  the  mysterious  man  as  he  stood  in  the 
full  light  of  the  brilliant  moon.  "I  have  here  a  letter 
for  you  which  Mr.  Henfrey  wrote  a  week  ago.  It  only 
came  into  my  hands  yesterday."  And  he  gave  her  an 
envelope. 

"Tell  me  something  about  this  woman,  Mademoiselle  of 
Monte  Carlo.     Who  is  she  ?"  asked  Dorise  excitedly. 

"Well — she  is  a  person  who  was  notorious  at  the 
Rooms,  as  you  yourself  know.    You  have  seen  her." 


166    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"And  tell  me,  why  do  you  take  such  an  interest  in 
Hugh?"  inquired  the  girl,  not  without  a  note  of  suspicion 
in  her  voice. 

"For  reasons  best  known  to  myself,  Miss  Ranscomb. 
Reasons  which  are  personal." 

"That's  hardly  a  satisfactory  reply." 

"I  fear  I  can  give  few  satisfactory  replies  until  we  suc- 
ceed in  ascertaining  the  truth  of  what  occurred  at  the 
Villa  Amette,"  he  said.  "I  must  urge  you,  Miss  Rans- 
comb, to  remain  patient,  and — and  not  to  lose  faith  in 
the  man  who  is  wrongfully  accused." 

"But  when  can  I  see  him?"  asked  Dorise  eagerly. 

"Soon.  But  you  must  be  discreet — and  you  must  ask 
no  questions.  Just  place  yourself  in  my  hands — that  is, 
if  you  can  trust  me." 

"I  do,  even  though  I  am  ignorant  of  your  name." 

"It  is  best  that  you  remain  in  ignorance,"  was  his 
reply.  "Otherwise  perhaps  you  would  hesitate  to  trust 
me." 

"Why?" 

But  the  tall,  good-looking  man  only  laughed,  and  then 
he  said : 

"My  name  really  doesn't  matter  at  present.  Later, 
Miss  Ranscomb,  you  will  no  doubt  know  it.  I  am  only 
acting  in  the  interests  of  Henf rey." 

Again  she  looked  at  him.  His  face  was  smilinsr,  and 
yet  was  sphinx-like  in  the  moonlight.  His  voice  was  cer- 
tainly that  of  the  white  cavalier  which  she  recollected  so 
well,  but  his  personality,  so  strongly  marked,  was  a  little 
overbearing. 

"I  know  you  mistrust  me,"  he  went  on.  "If  I  were  in 
your  place  I  certainly  should  do  so.  A  thousand  pities 
it  is  that  I  cannot  tell  you  who  I  am.  But — well — I  tell 
you  in  confidence  that  I  dare  not !" 


RED  DAWN  167 

"Dare  not!  Of  what  are  you  afraid?"  inquired 
Dorise.  The  man  she  had  met  under  such  romantic  cir- 
cumstances interested  her  keenly.  He  was  Hugh's  go- 
between.  Poor  Hugh !  She  knew  he  was  suffering 
severely  in  his  loneliness,  and  his  incapability  to  clear 
himself  of  the  terrible  stigma  upon  him. 

"I'm  afraid  of  several  things,"  replied  the  white  cava- 
lier. "The  greatest  fear  I  have  is  that  you  may  not 
believe  in  me." 

"I  do  believe  in  you,"  declared  the  girl. 

"Excellent !"  he  replied  enthusiastically.  "Then  let  us 
get  to  business — pardon  me  for  putting  it  so.  But  I  am, 
after  all,  a  business  man.  I  am  interested  in  a  lot  oi 
different  businesses,  you  see." 

"Of  what  character?" 

"No,  Miss  Ranscomb.  That  is  another  point  upon 
which  I  regret  that  I  cannot  satisfy  your  pardonable 
curiosity.  Please  allow  your  mind  to  rest  upon  the  one 
main  point — that  I  am  acting  in  the  interests  of  the  man 
with — the  man  who  is,  I  believe,  your  greatest  and  most 
intimate  friend." 

"I  understood  that  when  we  met  in  Nice." 

"Good !  Now  I  understand  that  your  mother,  Lady 
Ranscomb,  is  much  against  your  marriage  with  Hugh 
Henfrey.    She  has  other  views." 

"Really !    Who  told  you  that  ?" 

"I  have  ascertained  it  in  the  course  of  my  inquiry." 

Dorise  paused,  and  then  looking  the  man  of  mystery 
straight  in  the  face,  asked : 

"What  do  you  really  know  about  me?" 

"Well,"  he  laughed  lightly.  "A  good  deal.  Now  tell 
me  when  could  you  be  free  to  get  away  from  your  mother 
for  a  whole  day  ?" 

"Why?" 


168    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"I  want  to  know.  Just  tell  me  the  date.  When  are 
you  returning  to  London  ?" 

"On  Saturday  week.  I  could  get  away — say — on 
Tuesday  week." 

"Very  good.  You  would  have  to  leave  London  by  an 
early  train  in  the  morning — if  I  fail  to  send  a  car  for 
you,  which  I  hope  to  do.  And  be  back  again  late  at 
night." 

"Why?" 

"Why,"  he  echoed.    "Because  I  have  a  reason." 

"I  believe  you  will  take  me  to  meet  Hugh — eh  ?  Ah ! 
How  good  you  are !"  cried  the  girl  in  deep  emotion.  "I 
shall  never  be  able  to  thank  you  sufficiently  for  all  you 
are  doing.  I — I  have  been  longing  all  these  weeks  to  see 
him  again — to  hear  his  explanation  why  he  went  to  that 
woman's  house  at  that  hour — why " 

"He  will  tell  you  everything,  no  doubt,"  said  her  mys- 
terious visitor.  "He  will  tell  you  everything  except  one 
fact." 

"And  what  is  that  ?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"One  fact  he  will  not  tell  you.  But  you  will  know  it 
later.  Hugh  Henf rey  is  a  fine  manly  fellow,  Miss  Rans- 
comb.  That  is  why  I  have  done  my  level  best  in  his 
interest." 

"But  why  should  you?"  she  asked.  "You  are,  after 
all,  a  stranger." 

"True.  But  you  will  know  the  truth  some  day.  Mean- 
while, leave  matters  as  they  are.  Do  not  prejudge  him, 
even  if  the  police  are  convinced  of  his  guilt.  Could  you 
be  at  King's  Cross  station  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning 
of  Tuesday  week?    If  so,  I  will  meet  you  there." 

"Yes,"  she  replied.     "But  where  are  we  going?" 

"At  present  I  have  no  idea.  When  one  is  escaping 
from  the  police  one's  movements  have  to  be  ruled  by 


RED  DAWN  169 

circumstances  from  hour  to  hour.  I  will  do  my  best  on 
that  clay  to  arrange  a  meeting  between  you,"  he  added. 

She  thanked  him  very  sincerely.  He  was  still  a  mys- 
tery, but  his  face  and  his  whole  bearing  attracted  her. 
He  was  her  friend.  She  recollected  his  words  amid  that 
gay  revelry  at  Nice — words  of  encouragement  and  sym- 
pathy. And  he  had  travelled  there,  far  north  into  Perth- 
shire, in  order  to  carry  the  letter  which  she  had  thrust 
into  her  pocket,  yet  still  holding  it  in  her  clenched  hand. 

"I  do  wish  you  would  tell  me  the  motive  of  your  ex- 
treme kindness  towards  us  both,"  Dorise  urged.  "I  can't 
make  it  out  at  all.     I  am  bewildered." 

"Well — so  am  I,  Miss  Ranscomb,"  repjried  the  tall, 
elegant  man  who  spoke  with  such  refinement,  and  was  so 
shrewd  and  alert.  "There  are  certain  facts — facts  of 
which  I  have  no  knowledge.  The  affair  at  the  Villa 
Amette  is  still,  to  me,  a  most  profound  mystery." 

"Why  did  Hugh  go  there  at  all?  That  is  what  I  fail 
to  understand,"  she  declared. 

"Don't  wonder  any  longer.  He  had,  I  know,  an  urgent 
and  distinct  motive  to  call  that  night." 

"But  the  woman !  I  hear  she  is  a  notorious  adven- 
turess." 

"And  the  adventuress,  Miss  Ranscomb,  often  has,  deep 
in  her  soul,  the  heart  of  a  pure  woman,"  he  said.  "One 
must  never  judge  by  appearance  or  gossip.  What  people 
may  think  is  the  curse  of  many  of  our  lives.  I  hope  you 
do  not  misjudge  Mr.  Henfrey." 

"I  do  not.    But  I  am  anxious  to  hear  his  explanation." 

"You  shall — and  before  long,  too,"  he  replied.  "But 
I  want  you,  if  you  will,  to  answer  a  question.  I  do  not 
put  it  from  mere  idle  curiosity,  but  it  very  closely  con- 
cerns you  both.  Have  you  ever  heard  him  speak  of  a 
girl  named  Louise  Lambert?" 


170    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Louise  Lambert  ?  Why,  yes !  He  introduced  her  to 
me  once.  She  is,  I  understand,  the  adopted  daughter  of 
a  man  named  Benton,  an  intimate  friend  of  old  Mr. 
Henfrey." 

"Has  he  ever  told  you  anything  concerning  her  ?" 

"Nothing  much.    Why?" 

"He  has  never  told  you  the  conditions  of  his  father's 
will?" 

"Never — except  that  he  has  been  left  very  poorly  off, 
though  his  father  died  in  affluent  circumstances.  What 
are  the  conditions?" 

The  mysterious  stranger  paused  for  a  moment. 

"Have  you,  of  late,  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a  cer- 
tain Mrs.  Bond,  a  widow  ?" 

"I  met  her  recently  in  South  Kensington,  at  the  house 
of  a  friend  of  my  mother,  Mrs.  Binyon.    Why?" 

"How  many  times  have  you  met  her  ?" 

"Two — or  I  think  three.  She  came  to  tea  with  us  the 
day  before  we  came  up  here." 

"H'm !  Your  mother  seems  rather  prone  to  make  easy 
acquaintanceships — eh?  The  Hardcastles  were  distinctly 
undesirable,  were  they  not? — and  the  Jameses 
also?" 

"Why,  what  do  you  know  about  them  ?"  asked  the  girl, 
much  surprised,  as  they  were  two  families  who  had  been 
discovered  to  be  not  what  they  represented. 

"Well,"  he  laughed.  "I  happen  to  be  aware  of  your 
mother's  charm — that's  all." 

"You  seem  to  know  quite  a  lot  about  us,"  she  remarked. 
"How  is  it?" 

"Because  I  have  made  it  my  business  to  know,  Miss 
Ranscomb,"  he  replied.  "Further,  I  would  urge  upon 
you  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  Mrs.  Bond." 

"Why  not  ?    We  found  her  most  pleasant.    She  is  the 


RED  DAWN  171 

widow  of  a  wealthy  man  who  died  abroad  about  two  years 
ago,  and  she  lives  somewhere  down  in  Surrey." 

"I  know  all  about  that,"  he  answered  in  a  curious  tone. 
"But  I  repeat  my  warning  that  Mrs.  Bond  is  by  no  means 
a  desirable  acquaintance.  I  tell  you  so  for  your  own 
benefit." 

Inwardly  he  was  angry  that  the  woman  should  have 
so  cleverly  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  girl.  It  showed 
him  plainly  that  Benton  and  she  were  working  on  a  set 
and  desperate  plan,  while  the  girl  before  him  was  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  plot. 

"Now,  Miss  Ranscomb,"  he  added,  "I  want  you  to 
please  make  me  a  promise — namely,  that  you  will  say 
nothing  to  a  single  soul  of  what  I  have  said  this  evening 
— not  even  to  your  friend,  Mr.  Henfrey.  I  have  very 
strong  reasons  for  this.  Remember,  I  am  acting  in  the 
interests  of  you  both,  and  secrecy  is  the  essence  of  suc- 
cess." 

"I  understand.  But  you  really  mystify  me.  I  know 
you  are  my  friend,"  she  said,  "but  why  are  you  doing  all 
this  for  our  benefit?" 

"In  order  that  Hugh  Henfrey  may  return  to  your  side, 
and  that  hand  in  hand  you  may  be  able  to  defeat  your 
enemies." 

"My  enemies  !    Who  are  they  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"One  day,  very  soon,  they  must  reveal  themselves. 
When  they  do,  and  you  find  yourself  in  difficulties,  you 
have  only  to  call  upon  me,  and  I  will  further  assist  you. 
Advertise  in  the  Times  newspaper  at  any  time  for  an 
appointment  with  'Silverado.'  Give  me  seven  days,  and 
I  will  keep  it." 

"But  do  tell  me  your  name !"  she  urged,  as  they  moved 
together  from  the  gateway  along  the  road  in  the  direction 
of  Perth.    "I  beg  of  you  to  do  so." 


172    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"I  have  already  begged  a  favour  of  you,  Miss  Rans- 
comb,"  he  answered  in  a  soft,  refined  voice.  "I  ask  you 
not  to  press  your  question.  Suffice  it  that  I  am  your 
sincere  friend." 

"But  when  shall  I  see  Hugh  ?"  she  cried,  again  halting. 
"I  cannot  bear  this  terrible  suspense  any  longer — indeed 
I  can't !    Can  I  go  to  him  soon  ?" 

"No !"  cried  a  voice  from  the  shadow  of  a  bush  close 
beside  them  as  a  dark  alert  figure  sprang  forth  into  the 
light.    "It  is  needless.    I  am  here,  dearest! — at  last!" 

And  next  second  she  found  herself  clasped  in  her 
lover's  strong  embrace,  while  the  stranger,  utterly  taken 
aback,  stood  looking  on,  absolutely  mystified. 


FIFTEENTH  CHAPTER 

THE    NAMELESS    MAN 

"Who  is  this  gentleman,  Dorise?"  asked  Hugh,  when  a 
moment  later  the  girl  and  her  companion  had  recovered 
from  their  surprise. 

"I  cannot  introduce  you,"  was  her  reply.  "He  refuses 
to  give  his  name." 

The  tall  man  laughed,  and  said : 

"I  have  already  told  you  that  my  name  is  X." 

Hugh  regarded  the  stranger  with  distinct  suspicion. 
It  was  curious  that  he  should  discover  them  together, 
yet  he  made  but  little  comment. 

"We  were  just  speaking  about  you,  Mr.  Henfrey,"  the 
tall  man  went  on.  "I  believed  that  you  were  still  in 
Belgium." 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  there?" 

"Oh! — well,  information  concerning  your  hiding- 
place  reached  me,"  was  his  enigmatical  reply.  "I  am, 
however,  glad  you  have  been  able  to  return  to  England 
in  safety.  I  was  about  to  arrange  a  meeting  between  you. 
But  I  advise  you  to  be  most  careful." 

"You  seem  to  know  a  good  deal  concerning  me," 
Hugh  remarked  resentfully,  looking  at  the  stern,  rather 
handsome  face  in  the  moonlight. 

"This  is  the  gentleman  who  sought  me  out  in  Nice, 
and  first  told  me  of  your  peril,  Hugh.  I  recognize  his 
voice,  and  have  to  thank  him  for  a  good  deal,"  the  girl 
declared. 

"Really,   Miss   Ranscomb,   I   require   no  thanks,"  the 

173 


174    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

polite  stranger  assured  her.  "If  I  have  been  able  to 
render  Mr.  Henfrey  a  little  service  it  has  been  a  pleasure 
to  me.  And  now  that  you  are  together  again  I  will  leave 
you." 

"But  who  are  you?"  demanded  Hugh,  filled  with 
curiosity. 

"That  matters  not,  now  that  you  are  back  in  England. 
Only  I  beseech  of  you  to  be  very  careful,"  said  the  tall 
man.  Then  he  added :  "There  are  pitfalls  into  which  you 
may  very  easily  fall — traps  set  by  your  enemies." 

"Well,  sir,  I  thank  you  sincerely  for  what  you  have 
done  for  Miss  Ranscomb  during  my  absence,"  said  the 
young  man,  much  mystified  at  finding  Dorise  strolling 
at  that  hour  with  a  man  of  whose  name  even  she  was 
ignorant.  "I  know  I  have  enemies,  and  I  shall  certainly 
heed  your  warning." 

"Your  enemies  must  not  know  you  are  in  England. 
If  they  do,  they  will  most  certainly  inform  the  police." 

"I  shall  take  care  of  that,"  was  Hugh's  reply.  "I  shall 
be  compelled  to  go  into  hiding  again — but  where,  I  do  not 
know." 

"Yes,  you  must  certainly  continue  to  lie  low  for  a 
time,"  the  man  urged.  "I  know  how  very  dull  it  must 
have  been  for  you  through  all  those  weeks.  But  even 
that  is  better  than  the  scandal  of  arrest  and  trial." 

"Ah !  I  know  of  what  you  are  accused,  Hugh !"  cried 
the  girl.    "And  I  also  know  you  are  innocent!" 

"Mr.  Henfrey  is  innocent,"  said  the  tall  stranger.  "But 
there  must  be  no  publicity,  hence  his  only  chance  of 
safety  lies  in  strict  concealment." 

"It  is  difficult  to  conceal  oneself  in  England,"  replied 
Hugh. 

The  stranger  laughed,  as  he  slowly  answered : 
"There  are  certain  places  where  no  questions  are  asked 


THE  NAMELESS  MAN  175 

— if  you  know  where  to  look  for  them.     But  first,  I  am 
very  interested  to  know  how  you  got  over  here." 

"I  went  to  Ostend,  and  for  twenty  pounds  induced  a 
Belgian  fisherman  to  put  me  ashore  at  night  near  Caister, 
in  Norfolk.  I  went  to  London  at  once,  only  to  discover 
that  Miss  Ranscomb  was  at  Blairglas — and  here  I  am. 
But  I  assure  you  it  was  an  adventurous  crossing,  for  the 
weather  was  terrible — a  gale  blew  nearly  the  whole  time.'* 

"You  are  here,  it  is  true,  Mr.  Henfrey.  But  you 
mustn't  remain  here,"  the  stranger  declared.  "Though  I 
refuse  to  give  you  my  name,  I  will  nevertheless  try  to 
render  you  further  assistance.  Go  back  to  London  by 
the  next  train  you  can  get,  and  then  call  upon  Mrs. 
Mason,  who  lives  at  a  house  called  'Heathcote,'  in  Abing- 
don Road,  Kensington.  She  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I 
will  advise  her  by  telegram  that  she  will  have  a  visitor. 
Take  apartments  at  her  house,  and  remain  there  in  strict 
seclusion.  Will  you  remember  the  address — shall  I  write 
it  down?" 

"Thanks  very  much  indeed,"  Hugh  replied.  "I  shall 
remember  it.  Mrs.  Mason,  'Heathcote,'  Abingdon  Road, 
Kensington." 

"That's  it.  Get  there  as  soon  as  ever  you  can,"  urged 
the  stranger.  "Recollect  that  your  enemies  are  still  in 
active  search  of  you." 

Hugh  looked  his  mysterious  friend  full  in  the  face. 

"Look  here!"  he  said,  in  a  firm,  hard  voice.  "Are 
you  known  as  II  Passero?" 

"Pardon  me,"  answered  the  stranger.  "I  refuse  to 
satisfy  your  curiosity  as  to  who  I  may  be.  I  am  your 
friend — that  is  all  that  concerns  you." 

"But  the  famous  Passero — The  Sparrow — is  my  un- 
known friend,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  a  suspicion  that 
you  and  he  are  identical !" 


176    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"I  have  a  motive  in  not  disclosing  my  identity,"  was 
the  man's  reply  in  a  curious  tone.  "Get  to  Mrs.  Mason's 
as  quickly  as  you  can.  Perhaps  one  day  soon  we  may 
meet  again.  Till  then,  I  wish  both  of  you  the  best  of 
luck.    Au  revoir!" 

And,  raising  his  hat,  he  turned  abruptly,  and,  leaving 
them,  set  off  up  the  high  road  which  led  to  Perth. 

"But,  listen,  sir — one  moment!"  cried  Hugh,  as  he 
turned  away. 

Nevertheless  the  stranger  heeded  not,  and  a  few  seconds 
later  his  figure  was  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  high  hedge- 
row. 

"Well,"  said  Hugh,  a  few  moments  later,  "all  this  is 
most  amazing.  I  feel  certain  that  he  is  either  the  mys- 
terious Sparrow  himself,  or  one  of  his  chief  accom- 
plices." 

"The  Sparrow?  Who  is  he — dear?"  asked  Dorise, 
her  hand  upon  her  lover's  shoulder. 

"Let's  sit  down  somewhere,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  he 
said.  Then,  re-entering  the  park  by  the  small  iron  gate, 
Dorise  led  him  to  a  fallen  tree  where,  as  they  sat  together, 
he  related  all  he  had  been  told  concerning  the  notorious 
head  of  a  criminal  gang  known  to  his  confederates,  and 
the  underworld  of  Europe  generally,  as  II  Passero,  or 
The  Sparrow. 

"How  very  remarkable!"  exclaimed  Dorise,  when  he 
had  finished,  and  she,  in  turn,  had  told  him  of  the  en- 
counter at  the  White  Ball  at  Nice,  and  the  coming  and 
going  of  the  messenger  from  Malines.  "I  wonder  if  he 
really  is  the  notorious  Sparrow?" 

"I  feel  convinced  he  is,"  declared  Hugh.  "  He  sent 
me  a  message  in  secret  to  Malines  a  fortnight  ago  for- 
bidding me  to  attempt  to  leave  Belgium,  because  he  con- 


THE  NAMELESS  MAN  177 

sidered  the  danger  too  great.  He  was,  no  doubt,  much 
surprised  to-night  when  he  found  me  here." 

"He  certainly  was  quite  as  surprised  as  myself,"  the 
girl  replied,  happy  beyond  expression  that  her  lover  was 
once  again  at  her  side. 

In  his  strong  arms  he  held  her  in  a  long,  tight  em- 
brace, kissing  her  upon  the  lips  in  a  frenzy  of  satisfac- 
tion— long,  sweet  kisses  which  she  reciprocated  with  a 
whole-heartedness  that  told  him  of  her  devotion.  There, 
in  the  shadow,  he  whispered  to  her  his  love,  repeating 
what  he  had  told  her  in  London,  and  again  in  Monte 
Carlo. 

Suddenly  he  put  a  question  to  her: 

"Do  you  really  believe  I  am  innocent  of  the  charge 
against  me,  darling?" 

"I  do,  Hugh,"  she  answered  frankly. 

"Ah!  Thank  you  for  those  words,"  he  said,  in  a 
broken  voice.  "I  feared  that  you  might  think  because 
of  my  flight  that  I  was  guilty." 

"I  know  you  are  not.  Mother,  of  course,  says  all 
sorts  of  nasty  things — that  you  must  have  done  some- 
thing very  wrong — and  all  that." 

"My  escape  certainly  gives  colour  to  the  belief  that 
I  am  in  fear  of  arrest.  And  so  I  am.  Yet  I  swear  that 
I  never  attempted  to  harm  the  lady  at  the  Villa  Amette." 

"But  why  did  you  go  there  at  all,  dear?"  the  girl  asked. 
"You  surely  knew  the  unenviable  reputation  borne  by 
that  woman !" 

"I  knew  it  quite  well,"  he  said.  "I  expected  to  meet 
an  adventuress — but,  on  the  contrary,  I  met  a  real  good 
woman !" 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Hugh,"  she  said. 

"No,  darling.     You,  of  course,  cannot  understand!" 


178    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

he  exclaimed.  "I  admit  that  I  followed  her  home,  and  I 
demanded  an  interview." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  was  determined  she  should  divulge  to  me 
a  secret  of  her  own." 

"What  secret?" 

"One  that  concerns  my  whole  future." 

"Cannot  you  tell  me  what  it  is?"  she  asked,  looking 
into  his  face,  which  in  the  moonlight  she  saw  was  much 
changed,  for  it  was  unusually  pale  and  haggard. 

"I — well — at  the  present  moment  I  am  myself  mys- 
tified, darling.  Hence  I  cannot  explain  the  truth,"  he 
replied.  "Will  you  not  trust  me  if  I  promise  to  tell  you 
the  whole  facts  as  soon  as  I  have  learnt  them  ?  One  day 
I  hope  I  shall  know  all,  yet " 

"Yet— yet— what  ?" 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"The  poor  unfortuate  lady  has  lost  her  reason  as 
the  result  of  the  attempt  upon  her  life.  Therefore,  after 
all,  I  may  never  be  in  a  position  to  know  the  truth  which 
died  upon  her  lips." 

For  nearly  two  hours  the  pair  remained  together. 
Often  she  was  locked  in  her  lover's  arms,  heedless  of 
everything  save  her  unbounded  joy  at  his  return,  and  of 
the  fierce,  passionate  caresses  he  bestowed  upon  her. 
Truly,  that  was  a  night  of  supreme  delight  as  they  held 
each  other's  hands,  and  their  lips  met  time  after  time 
in  ecstasy. 

He  inquired  about  George  Sherrard,  but  she  said  little. 
She  hesitated  to  tell  him  of  the  incident  while  fishing  that 
morning,  but  merely  said : 

"Oh !  He  was  up  here  for  two  or  three  days,  but  had 
to  go  back  to  London  on  business.  And  I  was  very 
glad." 


THE  NAMELESS  MAN  179 

"Of  course,  dearest,  your  mother  still  presses  you  to 
marry  him." 

"Yes,"  laughed  the  girl.  "But  she  will  continue  to 
press.  She's  constantly  singing  his  praises  until  I'm 
utterly  sick  of  hearing  of  all  his  good  qualities." 

Hugh  sighed,  and  replied : 

"All  men  who  are  rich  are  possessed  of  good  quali- 
ties in  the  estimation  of  the  world.  The  poor  and  hard-up 
are  the  despised.  But,  after  all,  Dorise,"  he  added,  in  a 
changed  voice,  "you  have  not  forgotten  what  you  told 
me  at  Monte  Carlo — that  you  love  me — eh?" 

"I  repeat  it,  Hugh!"  declared  the  girl,  deeply  in 
earnest,  her  hand  stealing  into  his.  "I  love  only  you ! — 
you!" 

Then  again  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  imprinted  a 
fierce,  passionate  kiss  upon  her  ready  lips. 

"I  suppose  we  must  part  again,"  he  sighed.  "I  am 
compelled  to  keep  away  from  you  because  no  doubt  a 
watch  has  been  set  upon  you,  and  upon  your  correspond- 
ence. Up  to  the  present,  I  have  been  able,  by  the  good 
grace  of  unknown  friends,  to  slip  through  the  meshes  of 
the  net  spread  for  me.  But  how  long  this  will  continue, 
I  know  not." 

"Oh!  do  be  careful,  Hugh,  won't  you?"  urged  the 
girl,  as  they  sat  side  by  side.  The  only  sound  was  the 
rippling  of  the  burn  deep  down  in  the  glen,  and  the 
distant  barking  of  a  shepherd's  dog. 

"Yes.  I'll  get  away  into  the  wilds  of  Kensington — 
to  Abingdon  Road.  One  is  safer  in  a  London  suburb 
than  in  a  desert,  no  doubt.  West  London  is  a  good 
hiding-place." 

"Recollect  the  name.  Mason,  wasn't  it  ?  And  she  lives 
at  'Heathcote.' " 

"That  was  it.    But  do  not  communicate  with  me,  other- 


i'8o    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

wise  my  place  of  concealment  will  most  certainly  be  dis- 
covered." 

"But  can't  I  see  you,  Hugh?"  implored  the  girl. 
"Must  we  again  be  parted  ?" 

"Yes.  It  seems  so,  according  to  our  mysterious  friend, 
whom  I  believe  most  firmly  to  be  the  notorious  thief 
known  by  the  Italian  sobriquet  of  II  Passero — The  Spar- 


row." 


"Do  you  think  he  is  a  thief  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Yes.  I  am  convinced  that  your  friend  is  none  other 
than  the  picturesque  and  romantic  criminal  whose  octo- 
pus hand  is  upon  almost  every  great  theft  in  Europe, 
and  whom  the  police  always  fail  to  catch,  so  elusive  and 
clever  is  he." 

She  gave  him  further  details  of  their  first  meeting  at 
Nice. 

"Exactly.  That  is  one  of  his  methods — secrecy  and 
generosity  are  his  two  traits.  He  and  his  accomplices 
rob  the  wealthy,  and  assist  those  wrongly  accused.  It 
must  be  he — or  one  of  his  assistants.  Otherwise  he 
would  not  know  of  the  secret  hiding-place  for  those  after 
whom  a  hue-and-cry  has  been  raised." 

He  recollected  at  that  moment  the  girl  who  had  been 
his  fellow-guest  in  Genoa — the  dainty  mademoiselle  who 
evidently  had  some  secret  knowledge  of  his  father's  death, 
and  yet  refused  to  divulge  a  single  word. 

Ever  since  that  memorable  night  at  the  Villa  Amette, 
he  had  existed  in  a  mist  of  suspicion  and  uncertainty. 
Yet,  after  all,  he  cared  little  for  anything  so  long  as 
Dorise  still  believed  in  his  innocence,  and  she  still  loved 
him.  His  one  great  object  was  to  clear  up  the  mystery 
of  his  father's  tragic  end,  and  thus  defeat  the  clever  plot 
of  those  whose  intention  it,  apparently,  was  to  marry 
him  to  Louise  Lambert. 


THE  NAMELESS  MAN  181 

On  every  hand  there  was  mystification.  The  one 
woman — notorious  as  she  was — who  knew  the  truth  had 
been  rendered  mentally  incompetent  by  an  assassin's 
bullet,  while  he,  himself,  was  accused  of  the  crime. 

Hugh  Henfrey  would  have  long  ago  confessed  to 
Dorise  the  whole  facts  concerning  his  father's  death,  but 
his  delicacy  prevented  him.  He  honoured  his  dead  father, 
and  was  averse  to  telling  the  girl  he  loved  that  he  had 
been  found  in  a  curious  state  in  a  West  End  street  late 
at  night.  He  was  loyal  to  his  poor  father's  memory, 
and,  until  he  knew  the  actual  truth,  he  did  not  intend  that 
Dorise  should  be  in  a  position  to  misconstrue  the  facts, 
or  to  misjudge. 

On  the  face  of  it,  his  father's  death  was  exceedingly 
suspicious.  He  had  left  his  home  in  the  country  and 
gone  to  town  upon  pretence.  Why  ?  That  a  woman  was 
connected  with  his  journey  was  now  apparent.  Hugh 
had  ascertained  certain  facts  which  he  had  resolved  to 
withhold  from  everybody. 

But  why  should  the  notorious  Sparrow,  the  King  of  the 
Underworld,  interest  himself  so  actively  on  his  behalf  as 
to  travel  up  there  to  Perthshire,  after  making  those  secret, 
but  elaborate,  arrangements  for  safety?  The  whole 
affair  was  a  mystery,  complete  and  insoluble. 

It  was  early  morning,  after  they  had  rambled  for  sev- 
eral hours  in  the  moonlight,  when  Hugh  bade  his  well- 
beloved  farewell. 

They  had  returned  through  the  park  and  were  at  a 
gate  quite  close  to  the  castle  when  they  halted.  It  had 
crossed  Hugh's  mind  that  they  might  be  seen  by  one  of 
the  keepers,  and  he  had  mentioned  this  to  Dorise. 

"What  matter?"  she  replied.  "They  do  not  know  you, 
and  probably  will  not  recognize  me." 

So  after  promising  Hugh  to  remain  discreet,  she  told 


i82    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONT3  CARLO 

him  they  were  returning  to  London  in  a  few  days. 
"Look  here !"  he  said  suddenly.  "We  must  meet  again 
very  soon,  darling.  I  daresay  I  may  venture  out  at  night, 
therefore  why  not  let  us  make  an  appointment — say,  for 
Tuesday  week.  Where  shall  we  meet?  At  midnight  at 
the  first  seat  on  the  right  on  entering  the  park  at  the 
Marble  Arch — eh?  You  remember,  we  met  there  once 
before — about  a  year  ago." 

"Yes.  I  know  the  spot,"  the  girl  replied.  "I  remem- 
ber what  a  cold,  wet  night  it  was,  too !"  and  she  laughed 
at  the  recollection.  "Very  well.  I  will  contrive  to  be 
there.  That  night  we  are  due  at  a  dance  at  the  Gordons' 
in  Grosvenor  Gardens.  But  I'll  manage  to  be  there 
somehow — if  only  for  five  minutes." 

"Good,"  he  exclaimed,  again  kissing  her  fondly. 
"Now  I  must  make  all  speed  to  Kensington  and  there  go 
once  more  into  hiding.  When — oh  !  when  will  this  weary- 
ing life  be  over !" 

"You  have  a  friend,  as  I  have,  in  the  mysterious  white 
cavalier,"  she  said.    "I  wonder  who  he  really  is?" 

"The  Sparrow — without  a  doubt — the  famous  Tl 
Passero'  for  whom  the  police  of  Europe  are  ever  search- 
ing, the  man  who  at  one  moment  lives  in  affluence  and 
the  highest  respectability  in  a  house  somewhere  near 
Piccadilly,  and  at  another  is  tearing  over  the  French, 
Spanish,  or  Italian  roads  in  his  powerful  car  directing 
all  sorts  of  crooked  business.  It's  a  strange  world  in 
which  I  find  myself,  Dorise,  I  assure  you!"  Good-bye, 
darling — good-bye !"  and  he  took  her  in  a  final  embrace. 
"Good-bye — till  Tuesday  week." 

Then  stepping  on  to  the  grass,  where  his  feet  fell 
noiselessly,  he  disappeared  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
great  avenue  of  beeches. 


SIXTEENTH  CHAPTER 

THE  ESCROCS  OF  LONDON 

For  ten  weary  days  Hugh  Henfrey  had  lived  in  the 
close,  frowsy-smelling  house  in  Abingdon  Road,  Ken- 
sington, a  small,  old-fashioned  place,  once  a  residence  of 
well-to-do  persons,  but  now  sadly  out  of  repair. 

Its  occupier  was  a  worthy,  and  somewhat  wizened, 
widow  named  Mason,  who  was  supposed  to  be  the  relict 
of  an  army  surgeon  who  had  been  killed  at  the  Battle 
of  the  Marne.  She  was  about  sixty,  and  suffered  badly 
from  asthma.  Her  house  was  too  large  for  the  one  maid, 
a  stout,  matronly  person  called  Emily,  hence  the  place 
was  not  kept  as  clean  as  it  ought  to  have  been,  and  the 
cuisine  left  much  to  be  desired. 

Still,  it  appeared  to  be  a  safe  harbour  of  refuge  for 
certain  strange  persons  who  came  there,  men  who  looked 
more  or  less  decent  members  of  society,  but  whose  talk 
and  whose  slang  was  certainly  that  of  crooks.  That 
house  in  the  back  street  of  old-world  Kensington,  a 
place  built  before  Victoria  ascended  the  throne,  was  un- 
doubtedly on  a  par  with  the  flat  of  the  Reveccas  in 
Genoa,  and  the  thieves'  sanctuary  in  the  shadow  of  the 
cathedral  at  Malines. 

Adversity  brings  with  it  queer  company,  and  Hugh 
had  found  himself  among  a  mixed  society  of  men  who 
had  been  gentlemen  and  had  taken  up  the  criminal  life  as 
an  up-to-date  profession.  They  all  spoke  of  The  Sparrow 
with  awe ;  and  they  all  wondered  what  his  next  great 
coup  would  be. 

183 


1 84    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Hugh  became  more  than  ever  satisfied  that  II  Passero 
was  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  astute  criminals  who 
have  graced  the  annals  of  our  time. 

Everyone  sang  his  praise.  The  queer  visitors  who 
lodged  there  for  a  day,  a  couple  of  days,  or  more;  the 
guests  who  came  suddenly,  and  who  disappeared  just  as 
quickly,  were  one  and  all  loud  in  their  admiration  of  II 
Passero,  though  Hugh  could  discover  nobody  who  had 
actually  seen  the  arch-thief  in  the  flesh. 

On  the  Tuesday  nigh':  Hugh  had  had  a  frugal  and 
badly-cooked  meal  with  three  mysterious  men  who  had 
arrived  as  Mrs.  Mason's  guests  during  the  day.  After 
supper  the  widow  rose  and  left  the  room,  whereupon 
the  trio,  all  well-dressed  men-about-town,  began  to 
chatter  openly  about  a  little  "deal"  in  diamonds  in  which 
they  had  been  interested.  The  "deal"  in  question  had 
been  reported  in  the  newspapers  on  the  previous  morn- 
ing, namely,  how  a  Dutch  diamond  dealer's  office  in 
Hatton  Garden  had  been  broken  into,  the  safe  cut  open 
by  the  most  scientific  means,  and  a  very  valuable  parcel 
of  stones  extracted. 

"Harry  Austen  has  gone  down  into  Surrey  to  stay  with 
Molly." 

"Molly  ?    Why,  I  thought  she  was  in  Paris  !" 
"She  was — but  she  went  to  America  for  a  trip  and  she 
finds  it  more  pleasant  to  live  down  in  Surrey  just  now," 
replied  the  other  with  a  grin.     "She  has  Charlie's  girl 
living  with  her." 

"H'm!"  grunted  the  third  man.  "Not  quite  the  sort 
of  companion  Charlie  might  choose  for  his  daughter — 
eh?" 

Hugh  took  but  little  notice  of  the  conversation.  It 
was  drawing  near  the  time  when  he  would  go  forth  to 
meet  Dorise  at  their  trysting  place.     In  anxiety  he  went 


THE  ESCROCS  OF  LONDON  185 

into  the  adjoining  room,  and  there  smoked  alone  until 
just  past  eleven  o'clock,  when  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went 
forth  into  the  dark,  deserted  street. 

Opposite  High  Street  Kensington  Station  he  jumped 
upon  a  bus,  and  at  five  minutes  to  midnight  alighted  at 
the  Marble  Arch.  On  entering  the  park  he  quickly- 
found  the  seat  he  had  indicated  as  their  meeting  place, 
and  sat  down  to  wait. 

The  home-going  theatre  traffic  behind  him  in  the  Bays- 
water  Road  had  nearly  ceased  as  the  church  clocks 
chimed  the  midnight  hour.  In  the  semi-darkness  of  the 
park  dark  figures  were  moving,  lovers  with  midnight 
trysts  like  his  own.  In  the  long,  well-lit  road  behind  him 
motors  full  of  gaily-dressed  women  flashed  homeward 
from  suppers  or  theatres,  while  from  the  open  windows 
of  a  ballroom  in  a  great  mansion,  the  house  of  an  iron 
magnate,  came  the  distant  strains  of  waltz  music. 

Time  dragged  along.  He  strained  his  eyes  down  the 
dark  pathway,  but  could  see  no  approaching  figure.  Had 
she  at  the  last  moment  been  prevented  from  coming? 
He  knew  how  difficult  it  was  for  her  to  slip  away  at 
night,  for  Lady  Ranscomb  was  always  so  full  of  en- 
gagements, and  Dorise  was  compelled  to  go  everywhere 
with  her. 

At  last  he  saw  a  female  figure  in  the  distance,  as  she 
turned  into  the  park  from  the  Marble  Arch,  and  spring- 
ing to  his  feet,  went  forward  to  meet  her.  At  first  he 
was  not  certain  that  it  was  Dorise,  but  as  he  approached 
nearer  he  recognized  her  gait. 

A  few  seconds  later  he  confronted  her  and  grasped 
her  warmly  by  the  hand.  The  black  cloak  she  was  wear- 
ing revealed  a  handsome  jade-coloured  evening  gown, 
while  her  shoes  were  not  those  one  would  wear  for 
promenading  in  the  park. 


1 86    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Welcome  at  last,  darling !"  he  cried.  "I  was  wonder- 
ing if  you  could  get  away,  after  all !" 

"I  had  a  little  difficulty,"  she  laughed.  "I'm  at  a 
dance  at  the  Gordons'  in  Grosvenor  Gardens,  but  I  man- 
aged to  slip  out,  find  a  taxi,  and  run  along  here.  I  fear 
I  can't  stay  long,  or  they  will  miss  me." 

"Even  five  minutes  with  you  is  bliss  to  me,  darling," 
he  said,  grasping  her  ungloved  hand  and  raising  it  to  his 
lips. 

"Ah !  Hugh.  If  you  could  only  return  to  us,  instead 
of  living  under  this  awful  cloud  of  suspicion !"  the  girl 
cried.  "Every  day,  and  every  night,  I  think  of  you, 
dear,  and  wonder  how  you  are  dragging  out  your  days 
in  obscurity  down  in  Kensington.  Twice  this  week  I 
drove  along  the  Earl's  Court  Road,  quite  close  to  you." 

"Oh!  life  is  a  bit  dull,  certainly,"  he  replied  cheerfully. 
"But  I  have  papers  and  books — and  I  can  look  out  of  the 
window  on  to  the  houses  opposite." 

"But  you  go  out  for  a  ramble  at  night  ?" 

"Oh !  yes,"  he  replied.  "Last  night  I  set  out  at  one 
o'clock  and  walked  up  to  Hampstead  Heath,  as  far  as 
Jack  Straw's  Castle  and  back.  The  night  was  perfect. 
Really,  Londoners  who  sleep  heavily  all  night  lose  the 
best  part  of  their  lives.  London  is  only  beautiful  in  the 
night  hours  and  at  early  dawn.  I  often  watch  the  sun 
rise  from  the  Thames  Embankment.  I  have  a  fa- 
vourite seat — just  beyond  Scotland  Yard.  I've  become 
quite  a  night-bird  these  days.  I  sleep  when  the  sun 
shines,  and  with  a  sandwich  box  and  a  flask  I  go  long 
tramps  at  night,  just  as  others  do  who,  like  myself,  are 
concealing  their  identity." 

"But  when  will  all  this  end?"  queried  the  girl,  as 
together  they  strolled  in  the  direction  of  Bayswater,  pass- 


THE  ESCROCS  OF  LONDON  187 

Ing  many  whispering  couples  sitting  on  seats.  London 
lovers  enjoy  the  park  at  all  hours  of  the  twenty-four. 

"It  will  only  end  when  I  am  able  to  discover  the 
truth,"  he  said  vaguely.  "Meanwhile  I  am  not  dis- 
heartened, darling,  because — because  I  know  that  you 
believe  in  me — that  you  still  trust  me." 

"That  man  whom  I  saw  in  Nice  dressed  as  a  cavalier, 
and  who  again  came  to  me  in  Scotland,  is  a  mystery," 
she  said.  "Do  you  really  believe  he  is  the  person  you 
suspect  ?" 

"I  do.  I  still  believe  he  is  the  notorious  and  defiant 
criminal  'II  Passero' — the  most  daring  and  ingenious 
thief  of  the  present  century." 

"But  he  is  evidently  your  friend." 

"Yes.  That  is  the  great  mystery  of  it  all.  I  cannot 
discern  his  motive." 

"Is  it  a  sinister  one,  do  you  think?" 

"No.  I  do  not  believe  so.  I  have  heard  of  The  Spar- 
row's fame  from  the  lips  of  many  criminals,  but  none 
has  uttered  one  single  word  against  him.  He  is,  I  hear, 
fierce,  bitter,  and  relentless  towards  those  who  are  his 
enemies.  To  his  friends,  however,  he  is  staunchly  loyal. 
That  is  what  is  said  of  him." 

"But,  Hugh,  I  wish  you  would  be  more  frank  with 
me,"  the  girl  said.  "There  are  several  things  you  are 
hiding  from  me." 

"I  admit  it,  darling,"  he  blurted  forth,  holding  her 
hand  in  the  darkness  as  they  walked.  The  ecstasy  and 
the  bliss  of  that  moment  held  him  almost  without  words. 
She  was  as  life  to  him.  He  pursued  that  soul-deadening 
evasion,  and  lived  that  grey,  sordid  life  among  men  and 
women  escaping  from  justice  solely  for  her  sake.  If  he 
married  Louise  Lambert  and  then  cast  off  the  matri- 


188    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

monial  shackles  he  would  recover  his  patrimony  and  be 
well-off. 

To  many  men  the  temptation  would  have  proved  too 
great.  The  inheritance  of  his  father's  fortune  was  so 
very  easy.  Louise  was  a  pretty  girl,  well  educated,  bright, 
vivacious,  and  thoroughly  up  to  date.  Yet  somehow,  he 
always  mistrusted  Benton,  though  his  father,  perhaps 
blinded  in  his  years,  had  reckoned  him  his  best  and  most 
sincere  friend.  There  are  many  unscrupulous  men  who 
pose  as  dear,  devoted  friends  of  those  who  they  know 
are  doomed  by  disease  to  die — men  who  hope  to  be  left 
executors  with  attaching  emoluments,  and  men  who  have 
some  deep  game  to  play  either  by  swindling  the  orphans, 
or  by  advancing  one  of  their  own  kith  and  kin  in  the 
social  scale. 

Old  Mr.  Henfrey,  a  genuine  country  landowner  of  the 
good  old  school,  a  man  who  lived  in  tweeds  and  leggings, 
and  who  rode  regularly  to  hounds  and  enjoyed  his  days 
across  the  stubble,  was  one  of  the  unsuspicious.  Charles 
Benton  he  had  first  met  long  ago  in  the  Hotel  de  Russie 
in  Rome  while  he  was  wintering  there.  Benton  was 
merry,  and,  apparently,  a  gentleman.  He  talked  of  his 
days  at  Harrow,  and  afterwards  at  Cambridge,  of  being 
sent  down  because  of  a  big  "rag"  in  the  Gladstonian 
days,  and  of  his  life  since  as  a  fairly  well-off  bachelor 
with  rooms  in  London. 

Thus  a  close  intimacy  had  sprung  up  between  them, 
and  Hugh  had  naturally  regarded  his  father's  friend  with 
entire  confidence. 

"You  admit  that  you  are  not  telling  me  the  whole  truth, 
Hugh,"  remarked  the  girl  after  a  long  pause.  "It  is 
hardly  fair  of  you,  is  it?" 

"Ah !  darling,  you  do  not  know  my  position,"  he  has- 
tened to  explain  as  he  gripped  her  little  hand  more  tightly 


THE  ESCROCS  OF  LONDON  189 

in  his  own.  "I  only  wish  I  could  learn  the  truth  myself 
so  as  to  make  complete  explanation.  But  at  present  all 
is  doubt  and  uncertainty.    Won't  you  trust  me,  Dorise?" 

"Trust  you !"  she  echoed.  "Why,  of  course  I  will ! 
You  surely  know  that.  Hugh." 

The  young  man  was  again  silent  for  some  moments. 
Then  he  exclaimed ; 

"Yet,  after  all,  I  can  see  no  ray  of  hope." 

"Why?" 

"Hope  of  our  marriage,  Dorise,"  he  said  hoarsely. 
"How  can  I,  without  money,  ever  hope  to  make  you  my 
wife?" 

"But  you  will  have  your  father's  estate  in  due  course, 
won't  you?''  she  asked  quite  innocently.  "You  always 
plead  poverty.    You  are  so  like  a  man." 

"Ah !  Dorise,  I  am  really  poor.  You  don't  understand 
— you  can't!" 

"But  I  do,"  she  said.  "You  may  have  debts.  Every 
man  has  them — tailor's  bills,  restaurant  bills,  betting 
debts,  jewellery  debts.  Oh  !  I  know.  I've  heard  all  about 
these  things  from  mother.  Well,  if  you  have  them, 
you'll  be  able  to  settle  them  out  of  your  father's  estate  all 
in  due  course." 

"And  if  he  has  left  me  nothing?" 

"Nothing !"  ejaculated  the  handsome  girl  at  his  side. 
"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Well "  he  said  very  slowly.     "At  present  I  have 

nothing — that's  all.  That  is  why  at  Monte  Carlo  I  sug- 
gested that— that " 

He  did  not  conclude  the  sentence. 

"I  remember.  You  said  that  I  had  better  marry 
George  Sherrard — that  thick-lipped  ass.  You  said  that 
because  you  are  hard-up — eh  ?" 

'Yes.     I  am  hard-up.     Very  hard-up.     At  present  I 


(a 


igo    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

am  existing  in  an  obscure  lodging  practically  upon  the 
charity  of  a  man  upon  whom,  so  far  as  I  can  ascertain, 
I  have  no  claim  whatsoever." 
"The  notorious  thief— eh?" 
Hugh  nodded,  and  said  : 

"That  fact  in  itself  mystifies  me.  I  can  see  no  motive. 
I  am  entirely  innocent  of  the  crime  attributed  to  me,  and 
if  Mademoiselle  were  in  her  right  mind  she  would  in- 
stantly clear  me  of  this  terrible  charge." 

"But  why  did  you  go  to  her  house  that  night,  Hugh?" 
"As  I  have  already  told  you,  I  went  to  demand  a  reply 
to  a  single  question  I  put  to  her,"  he  said.  "But  please 
do  not  let  us  discuss  the  affair  further.  The  whole  cir- 
cumstances are  painful  to  me — more  painful  than  you 
can  possibly  imagine.  One  day — and  I  hope  it  will  be 
soon — you  will  fully  realize  what  all  this  has  cost 
me." 

The  girl  drew  a  long  breath. 

"I  know,  Hugh,"  she  said.  "I  know,  dear — and  I  do 
trust  you." 

They  halted,  and  he  bent  and  impressed  upon  her  lips 
a  fierce  caress. 

So  entirely  absorbed  in  each  other  were  the  pair  that 
they  failed  to  notice  the  slim  figure  of  a  man  who  had 
followed  the  girl  at  some  distance.  Indeed,  the  indi- 
vidual in  question  had  been  lurking  outside  the  house  in 
Grosvenor  Gardens,  and  had  watched  Dorise  leave.  At 
the  end  of  the  street  a  taxi  was  drawn  up  at  the  kerb 
awaiting  him.  Dorise  had  hailed  the  man,  but  his  reply 
was  a  surly  "Engaged." 

Then,  walking  about  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  she 
had  found  another,  and  entering  it,  bad  driven  to  the 
Marble  Arch.  But  the  first  taxi  had  followed  the  second 
one,  and  in  it  was  the  well-set-up  man  who  was  silently 


THE  ESCROCS  OF  LONDON  191 

watching  her  in  the  park  as  she  walked  with  her  lover 
towards  the  Victoria  Gate. 

"What  can  I  say  to  you  in  reply  to  your  words  of  hope, 
darling?"  exclaimed  Hugh  as  he  walked  beside  her.  "I 
know  full  well  how  much  all  this  must  puzzle  you.  Have 
you  seen  Brock  ?" 

"Oh !  yes.  I  saw  him  two  days  ago.  He  called  upon 
mother  and  had  tea.  I  managed  to  get  five  minutes  alone 
with  him,  and  I  asked  if  he  had  heard  from  you.  He 
replied  that  he  had  not.    He's  much  worried  about  you." 

"Is  he,  dear  old  chap?  I  only  wish  I  dared  write  to 
him,  and  give  him  my  address." 

"I  told  him  that  you  were  back  in  London.  But  I 
did  not  give  him  your  address.  You  told  me  to  disclose 
nothing." 

"Quite  right,  Dorise,"  he  said.  "If,  as  I  hope  one  day 
to  do,  I  can  ever  clear  myself  and  combat  my  secret 
enemies,  then  there  will  be  revealed  to  you  a  state  of 
things  of  which  you  little  dream.  To-day  I  confess  I 
am  under  a  cloud.  In  the  to-morrow  I  hope  and  pray 
that  I  may  be  able  to  expose  the  guilty  and  throw  a  new 
light  upon  those  who  have  conspired  to  secure  my  down- 
fall." 

They  had  halted  in  the  dark  path,  and  again  their  lips 
met  in  fond  caress.  Behind  them  was  the  silent  watcher, 
the  tall  man  who  had  followed  Dorise  when  she  had 
made  her  secret  exit  from  the  house  wherein  the  gay 
dance  was  still  in  progress. 

An  empty  seat  was  near,  and  with  one  accord  the  lovers 
sank  upon  it,  Hugh  still  holding  the  girl's  soft  hand. 

"I  must  really  go,"  she  said.  "Mother  will  miss  me, 
no  doubt." 

"And  George  Sherrard,  too — eh?"  asked  her  com- 
panion bitterly. 


192    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"He  may,  of  course." 

"Ah!    Then  he  is  with  you  to-night?" 

"Yes.  Unfortunately,  he  is.  Ah !  Hugh !  how  I  hate 
his  exquisite  and  superior  manners.  But  he  is  such  a 
close  friend  of  mother's  that  I  can  never  escape  him." 

"And  he  still  pesters  you  with  his  attentions,  of 
course,"  remarked  Hugh  in  a  hard  voice. 

"Oh!  yes,  he's  always  pretending  to  be  in  love  with 
me." 

"Love !"  echoed  Hugh.  "Can  such  a  man  ever  love 
a  woman?  Never,  Dorise.  He  does  not  love  you  as  I 
love  you — with  my  whole  heart  and  my  whole  soul." 

"Of  course  the  fellow  cannot,"  she  replied.  "But,  for 
mother's  sake,  I  have  to  suffer  his  presence." 

"At  least  you  are  frank,  darling,"  he  laughed. 

"I  only  tell  you  the  truth,  dear.  Mother  thinks  she 
can  induce  me  to  marry  him  because  he  is  so  rich,  but  I 
repeat  that  I  have  no  intention  whatever  of  doing  so. 
I  love  you,  Hugh — and  only  you." 

Again  he  took  her  in  his  strong  arms  and  pressed  her 
to  him,  still  being  watched  by  the  mysterious  individual 
who  had  followed  Dorise. 

"Ah !  my  darling,  these  are,  indeed,  moments  of  su- 
preme happiness,"  Hugh  exclaimed  as  he  held  her  tightly 
in  his  arms.    "I  wonder  when  we  dare  meet  again?" 

"Soon,  dear — very  soon,  I  hope.  Let  us  make  another 
appointment,"  she  said.  "On  Friday  week  mother  is 
going  to  spend  the  night  with  Mrs.  Deane  down  at  Ascot. 
I  shall  make  excuse  to  stay  at  home." 

"Right.  Friday  week  at  the  same  place  and  time,"  he 
said  cheerily. 

"I'll  have  to  go  now,"  she  said  regretfully.  "I  only 
wish  I  could  stay  longer,  but  I  must  get  back  at  once. 
If  mother  misses  me  she'll  have  a  fit." 


THE  ESCROCS  OF  LONDON  193 

So  he  walked  with  her  out  of  the  Victoria  Gate  into 
the  Bayswater  Road  and  put  her  into  an  empty  taxi  which 
was  passing  back  to  Oxford  Street. 

Then,  when  he  had  pressed  her  hand  and  wished  her 
adieu,  he  continued  towards  Notting  Hill  Gate,  and 
thence  returned  to  Kensington. 

But,  though  he  was  ignorant  of  the  fact,  the  rather 
Iank  figure  which  had  been  waiting  outside  the  house  in 
Grosvenor  Gardens  now  followed  him  almost  as  noise- 
lessly as  a  shadow.  Never  once  did  the  watcher  lose 
sight  of  him  until  he  saw  him  enter  the  house  in  Abing- 
don Road  with  his  latchkey. 

Then,  when  the  door  had  closed,  the  mysterious 
watcher  passed  by  and  scrutinized  the  number,  after 
which  he  hastened  back  to  Kensington  High  Street,  where 
he  found  a  belated  taxi  in  which  he  drove  away. 


SEVENTEENTH  CHAPTER 

ON    THE    SURREY    HILLS 

On  the  following  morning,  about  twelve  o'clock,  Emily, 
Mrs.  Mason's  stout  maid-of -all-work,  showed  a  tall, 
well-dressed  man  into  Hugh's  frowsy  little  sitting-room 
-where  he  sat  reading. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  when  he  recognized  his  visitor 
to  be  Charles  Benton. 

"Well,  my  boy!"  cried  his  visitor  cheerily.  "So  I've 
found  you  at  last!  We  all  thought  you  were  on  the 
Continent,  lying  low  somewhere." 

"So  I  have  been,"  replied  the  young  man  faintly. 
"You've  heard  of  that  affair  at  Monte  Carlo?" 

"Of  course.     And  you  are  suspected — wanted  by  the 
police — eh?      That's    why    I'm    here,"    Benton    replied. 
"This  place  isn't  safe  for  you.    You  must  get  away  from 
it  at  once,"  he  added,  lowering  his  voice. 
"Why  isn't  it  safe  ?" 

"Because  at  Scotland  Yard  they  know  you  are  some- 
where in  Kensington,  and  they're  hunting  high  and  low 
for  you." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  Harpur,  one  of  the  assistant  Commissioners 
of  Police,  happened  to  be  in  the  club  yesterday,  and  we 
chatted.  So  I  pumped  him  as  to  the  suspected  person 
from  Monte  Carlo,  and  he  declared  that  you  were  known 
to  be  in  this  district,  and  your  arrest  was  only  a  matter  of 
time.  So  you  must  clear  out  at  once." 
"Where  to  ?"  asked  Hugh  blankly. 

194 


ON  THE  SURREY  HILLS  195 

"Well,  there's  a  lady  you  met  once  or  twice  with  me, 
Mrs.  Bond.  She  will  be  delighted  to  put  you  up  for  a 
few  weeks.  She  has  a  charming  house  down  in  Surrey 
— a  place  called  Shapley  Manor." 

"She  might  learn  the  truth  and  give  me  away,"  re- 
marked Hugh  dubiously. 

"She  won't.  Recollect,  Hugh,  that  I  was  your  father's 
friend,  and  am  yours.  What  advice  I  give  you  is  for  your 
own  good.    You  can't  stay  here — it's  impossible." 

The  name  of  The  Sparrow  was  upon  Hugh's  lips,, 
and  he  was  about  to  tell  Benton  of  that  mysterious  per- 
son's efforts  on  his  behalf,  but,  on  reflection,  he  saw  that 
he  had  no  right  to  expose  The  Sparrow's  existence  to 
others.  The  very  house  in  which  they  were  was  one  of 
the  bolt-holes  of  the  wonderfully  organized  gang  of 
crooks  which  II  Passero  controlled. 

"How  did  you  know  that  I  was  here?"  asked  Hugh 
suddenly  in  curiosity. 

"That  I'm  not  at  liberty  to  say.  It  was  not  a  friend 
of  yours,  but  rather  an  enemy  who  told  me — hence  I  tell 
you  that  you  run  the  gravest  risk  in  remaining  here  a 
moment  longer.  As  soon  as  I  heard  you  were  here,  I 
telephoned  to  Mrs.  Bond,  and  she  has  very  generously 
asked  us  both  to  stay  with  her,"  Benton  went  on.  "If 
you  agree,  I'll  get  a  car  now,  without  delay,  and  we'll 
run  down  into  Surrey  together,"  he  added. 

Hugh  glanced  at  the  tall,  well-dressed  man  of  whom 
his  father  had  thought  so  highly.  Charles  Benton,  in 
spite  of  his  hair  turning  grey,  was  a  handsome  man,  and 
moved  in  a  very  good  circle  of  society.  Nobody  knew 
his  source  of  income,  and  nobody  cared.  In  these  days 
clothes  make  the  gentleman,  and  a  knighthood  a  lady. 

Like  many  others,  old  Mr.  Henfrey  had  been  sadly 
deceived  by  Charles  Benton,  and  had  taken  him  into  his 


196    MADEMOISELLE  OF^  MONTE  CARLO 

family  as  a  friend.  Other  men  had  done  the  same.  His 
geniality,  his  handsome,  open  face,  and  his  plausible 
manner,  proved  the  open  sesame  to  many  doors  of  the 
wealthy,  and  the  latter  were  robbed  in  various  ways,  yet 
never  dreaming  that  Benton  was  the  instigator  of  it  all. 
He  never  committed  a  theft  himself.  He  gave  the  in- 
formation— and  others  did  the  dirty  work. 

"You  recollect  Mrs.  Bond,"  said  Benton.  "But  I  be- 
lieve Maxwell,  her  first  husband,  was  alive  then,  wasn't 
he?" 

"I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  meeting  a  Mrs.  Maxwell 
in  Paris — at  lunch  at  the  Pre  Catalan — was  it  not?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  About  six  years  ago.  That's  quite 
right !"  laughed  Benton.  "Well,  Maxwell  died  and  she 
married  arain — a  Colonel  Bond.    He  was  killed  in  Meso- 

o 

potamia,  and  now  she's  living  up  on  the  Hog's  Back, 
beyond  Guildford,  on  the  road  to  Farnham." 

Hugh  again  reflected.  He  had  come  to  Abingdon  Road 
at  the  suggestion  of  the  mysterious  White  Cavalier. 
Ought  he  to  leave  the  place  without  first  consulting  him? 
Yet  he  had  no  knowledge  of  the  whereabouts  of  the 
man  of  mystery  whom  he  firmly  believed  was  none  other 
than  the  elusive  Sparrow.  Besides,  was  not  Benton,  his 
father's  closest  friend,  warning  him  of  his  peril? 

That  latter  thought  decided  him. 

"I'm  sure  it's  awfully  good  of  Mrs.  Bond  whom  I 
know  so  slightly  to  invite  me  to  stay  with  her." 

"Nothing,  my  dear  boy.  She's  a  very  old  friend  of 
mine.  I  once  did  her  a  rather  good  turn  when  Maxwell 
was  alive,  and  she's  never  forgotten  it.  She's  one  of  the 
best  women  in  the  world,  I  assure  you,"  Benton  declared. 
"Ill  run  along  to  a  garage  I  know  in  Knightsbridge  and 
get  a  car  to  take  us  down  to  Shapley.  It's  right  out  in 
the  country,  and  as  long  as  you  keep  clear  of  the  town 


ON  THE  SURREY  HILLS  197 

of  Guildford — where  the  police  are  unusually  wary  under 
one  of  the  shrewdest  ch;ef  constables  in  England — then 
you  needn'c  have  much  fear.  Pack  up  your  traps,  Hugh, 
and  I'll  call  for  you  at  the  end  of  the  road  in  half  an 
hour." 

"Yes.  But  I'll  want  a  dress  suit  and  lots  of  other 
things  if  I'm  going  to  stay  at  a  country  house,"  the 
young  man  demurred. 

"Rot !  You  can  get  all  you  want  in  Aldershot,  Farn- 
ham  or  Portsmouth.  Come  just  as  you  are.  Mrs.  Bond 
will  make  all  allowances." 

"And  probably  have  her  suspicions  aroused  at  the  same 
time— eh?" 

"No,  she  won't.  This  is  a  sudden  trip  into  the  country. 
I  told  her  you  had  been  taken  unwell — a  nervous  break- 
down— and  that  the  doctor  had  ordered  you  complete 
rest  at  once." 

"I  wish  I  had  stayed  in  Monte  Carlo  and  faced  the 
charge  against  me,"  declared  Hugh  fervently.  "Being 
hunted  from  pillar  to  post  like  this  is  so  absolutely  nerve- 
racking." 

"Why  did  you  go  to  that  woman's  house,  Hugh?" 
Benton  asked.  "What  business  had  you  that  led  you  to 
call  at  that  hour  upon  such  a  notorious  person  ?" 

Hugh  remained  silent.  He  saw  that  to  tell  Benton  the 
truth  would  be  to  reopen  the  whole  question  of  the  will 
and  of  Louise. 

So  he  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Won't  you  tell  me  what  really  happened  at  the  Villa 
Amette,  Hugh  ?"  asked  the  elder  man  persuasively.  "I've 
seen  Brock,  but  he  apparently  knows  nothing." 

"Of  course  he  does  not.  I  was  alone,"  was  Hugh's 
answer.  "The  least  said  about  that  night  of  horror  the 
better,  Benton." 


198    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

So  his  father's  friend  left  the  house,  while  Hugh 
sought  Mrs.  Mason,  settled  his  bill  with  her,  packed  his 
meagre  wardrobe  into  a  suit-case,  and  half  an  hour  later 
entered  the  heavy  old  limousine  which  he  found  at  the 
end  of  the  road. 

They  took  the  main  Portsmouth  road,  by  way  of  Kings- 
ton, Cobham  and  Ripley,  until  in  the  cold  grey  afternoon 
they  descended  the  steep  hill  through  Guildford  High 
Street,  and  crossing  the  bridge,  instead  of  continuing 
along  the  road  to  Portsmouth,  bore  to  the  right,  past  the 
station,  and  up  the  steep  wide  road  over  that  long  hill, 
the  Hog's  Back,  whence  a  great  misty  panorama  was 
spread  out  on  either  side  of  the  long,  high-up  ridge  which 
in  the  sunshine  gives  such  a  wonderful  view  to  motorists 
on  their  way  out  of  London  southward. 

Presently  the  car  turned  into  the  gravelled  drive,  and 
Hugh  found  himself  at  Shapley. 

In  the  chintz-hung,  old-world  morning-room,  lit  by 
the  last  rays  of  the  declining  sun,  for  the  sky  had  sud- 
denly cleared,  Mrs.  Bond  entered,  loud-voiced  and  merry. 

"Why,  Mr.  Henfrey!  I'm  so  awfully  pleased  to  see 
you.  Charles  telephoned  to  me  that  you  were  a  bit  out 
of  sorts.  So  you  must  stay  with  me  for  a  little  while — 
both  of  you.  It's  very  healthy  up  here  on  the  Surrey 
hills,  and  you'll  soon  be  quite  right  again." 

"I'm  sure,  Mrs.  Bond,  it  is  most  hospitable  of  you," 
Hugh  said.  "London  in  these  after  the  war  days  is 
quite  impossible.  I  always  long  for  the  country.  Cer- 
tainly your  house  is  delightful,"  he  added,  looking  round. 

"It's  one  of  the  nicest  houses  in  the  whole  county  of 
Surrey,  my  boy,"  Benton  declared  enthusiastically.  "Mrs. 
Bond  was  awfully  lucky  in  securing  it.  The  family  are 
imfortunately  ruined,  as  so  many  others  are,  by  excessive 


ON  THE  SURREY  HILLS  199 

taxation  and  high  prices,  and  she  just  stepped  in  at  the 
psychological  moment." 

"Well,  I  really  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  suffi- 
ciently, Mrs.  Bond,"  Hugh  declared.  "It  is  really  ex- 
tremely good  of  you." 

"Remember,  Mr.  Henfrey,  we  are  not  strangers,"  ex- 
claimed the  handsome  woman.  "Do  you  recollect  when 
we  met  in  Paris,  and  afterwards  in  Biarritz,  and  then 
that  night  at  the  Carlton  ?" 

"I  recollect  perfectly  well.  We  met  before  the  war, 
when  one  could  really  enjoy  oneself  contentedly." 

"Since  then  I've  been  travelling  a  great  deal,"  said  the 
woman.  "I've  been  in  Italy,  the  South  of  Spain,  the 
Azores,  and  over  to  the  States.  I  got  back  only  a  few 
months  ago." 

And  so  after  a  chat  Hugh  was  shown  to  his  room,  a 
pretty  apartment,  from  the  diamond-paned  windows  of 
which  spread  out  a  lovely  view  across  to  Godalming  and 
Hindhead,  with  the  South  Downs  in  the  blue  far 
away. 

"Now  you  must  make  yourselves  at  home,  both  of  you," 
the  handsome  woman  urged  as  they  came  down  into  the 
drawing-room  after  a  wash. 

Tea  was  served,  and  over  it  much  chatter  about  people 
and  places.  Mrs.  Bond  was,  like  her  friend  Benton,  a 
thorough-going  cosmopolitan.  Hugh  had  no  idea  of  her 
real  reputation,  or  of  her  remarkable  adventures.  Neither 
had  he  any  idea  that  Molly  Maxwell  was  wanted  by  the 
Paris  Surete,  just  as  he  himself  was  wanted. 

"Isn't  this  a  charming  place?"  remarked  Benton  as, 
an  hour  later,  they  strolled  on  the  long  terrace  smoking 
cigarettes  before  dinner.  "Mrs.  Bond  was  indeed  fortu- 
nate in  finding  it." 


200    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Beautiful !"  declared  Hugh  in  genuine  admiration. 
Since  that  memorable  night  in  Monte  Carlo  he  had  been 
living  in  frowsy  surroundings,  concealed  in  thieves' 
hiding-places,  eating  coarse  food,  and  hearing  the  slang 
of  the  underworld  of  Europe. 

It  had  been  exciting,  yet  he  had  been  drawn  into  it 
against  his  will — just  because  he  had  feared,  for  Dorise's 
sake,  to  face  the  music  after  that  mysterious  shot  had 
been  fired  at  the  Villa  Amette. 

Mrs.  Bond  was  most  courteous  to  her  guests,  and  as 
Hugh  and  Benton  strolled  up  and  down  the  terrace  in 
the  fast  growing  darkness,  the  elder  man  remarked: 

"You'll  be  quite  safe  here,  you  know,  Hugh.  Don't 
worry.  I'm  truly  sorry  that  you  have  landed  yourself 
into  this  hole,  but — well,  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  see 
what  led  you  to  seek  out  that  woman,  Yvonne  Ferad. 
Why  ever  did  you  go  there?" 

Hugh  paused. 

"I — I  had  reasons — private  reasons  of  my  own,"  he 
replied. 

"That's  vague  enough.  We  all  have  private  reasons 
for  doing  silly  things,  and  it  seems  that  you  did  an  ex- 
ceptionally silly  thing.  I  hear  that  Mademoiselle  of 
Monte  Carlo,  after  the  doctors  operated  upon  her  brain, 
has  now  become  a  hopeless  idiot." 

"So  I've  been  told.  It  is  all  so  very  sad — so  horrible. 
Though  people  have  denounced  her  as  an  adventuress, 
yet  I  know  that  at  heart  she  is  a  real  good  woman." 

"Is  she?  How  do  you  know?"  asked  Benton  quickly, 
for  instantly  he  was  on  the  alert. 

"I  know.    And  that  is  all. 

"But  tell  me,  Hugh — tell  me  in  confidence,  my  boy — 
what  led  you  to  seek  her  that  night.  You  must  have 
followed  her  from  the  Casino  and  have  seen  her  enter 


ON  THE  SURREY  HILLS  201 

the  Villa.  Then  you  rang  at  the  door  and  asked  to  see 
her?" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"Why?" 

"I  had  my  own  reasons." 

"Can't  you  tell  them  to  me,  Hugh  ?"  asked  the  tall  man 
in  a  strange,  low  voice.  "Remember,  I  am  an  old  friend 
of  your  father.    And  I  am  still  your  best  friend." 

Hugh  pursued  his  walk  in  silence. 

"No,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  prefer  not  to  discuss  the 
affair.     That  night  is  one  full  of  painful  memories." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Benton  shortly.  "If  you  don't 
want  to  tell  me,  Hugh,  I  quite  understand.  That's 
enough.  Have  another  cigarette,"  and  he  handed  the 
young  fellow  his  heavy  gold  case. 

A  week  passed.  Hugh  Henfrey  and  Charles  Benton 
greatly  enjoyed  their  stay  at  Shapley  Manor.  With  their 
hostess  they  motored  almost  daily  to  many  points  of 
interest  in  the  neighbourhood,  never,  by  the  way,  descend- 
ing into  the  town  of  Guildford,  where  the  police  were  so 
unusually  alert  and  shrewd. 

More  than  once  when  alone  with  Benton,  Hugh  felt 
impelled  to  refer  to  the>  mysterious  death  of  his  father, 
but  it  was  a  very  painful  subject.  The  last  time  Hugh 
had  referred  to  it,  about  a  month  before  his  visit  to  Monte 
Carlo,  Benton  had  been  greatly  upset,  and  had  begged  the 
young  man  not  to  mention  the  tragic  affair. 

Constantly,  however,  Benton,  on  his  part,  would  put 
cunning  questions  to  him  concerning  Yvonne  Ferad,  as  to 
what  he  knew  concerning  her,  and  how  he  had  managed 
to  escape  over  the  frontier  into  Italy. 

Late  one  night  as  they  sat  together  in  the  billiard-room 
after  their  final  game,  Benton,  removing  the  cigar  from 
his  lips,  exclaimed: 


202    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Oh!  I  quite  forgot  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Bond  has  been 
awfully  good  to  Louise.  She  took  her  from  Paris  with 
her  and  they  went  quite  a  long  tour,  first  to  Spain  and 
other  places,  and  then  to  New  York  and  back. 

"Has  she?"  exclaimed  Hugh  in  surprise.  Only  once 
before  had  Benton  mentioned  Louise's  name,  then  he 
had  casually  remarked  that  she  was  on  a  visit  to  some 
friends  in  Yorkshire. 

"Yes.  She's  making  her  home  with  Mrs.  Bond  for 
the  present.    She  returns  here  to-morrow." 

As  he  said  this,  he  watched  the  young  man's  face.  It 
was  sphinxlike. 

"Oh!  That's  jolly!"  he  replied,  with  well  assumed 
satisfaction.  "It  seems  such  an  age  since  we  last  met — • 
nearly  a  year  before  my  father's  death,  I  believe." 

In  his  heart  he  had  no  great  liking  for  the  girl,  although 
she  was  bright,  vivacious  and  extremely  good  company. 

Next  afternoon  the  pair  met  in  the  hall  after  the  car 
had  brought  her  from  Guildford  station. 

"Hallo,  Hugh !"  she  cried  as  she  grasped  his  hand. 
"Uncle  wrote  and  told  me  you  were  here !  How  jolly, 
isn't  it?  Why — you  seem  to  have  grown  older,"  she 
laughed. 

"And  you  younger,"  he  replied,  bending  over  her  hand 
gallantly.  "I  hear  you've  been  all  over  the  world  of 
late !" 

"Yes.  Wasn't  it  awfully  good  of  Mrs.  Bond?  I  had 
a  ripping  time.  I  enjoyed  New  York  ever  so  much.  I 
find  this  place  a  bit  dull  after  Paris  though,  so  I'm  often 
away  with  friends." 

And  he  followed  her  into  the  big  morning-room  where 
Mrs.  Bond,  alias  Molly  Maxwell,  was  awaiting  her. 

That  afternoon  there  had  been  several  callers ;  a  re- 
tired admiral  and  his  wife,  and  two  county  magnates 


ON  THE  SURREY  HILLS  203 

with  their  womenfolk,  for  since  her  residence  at  Shapley 
Mrs.  Bond  had  been  received  in  a  good  many  smart 
houses,  especially  by  the  nouveau  richc  who  abound  in 
that  neighbourhood.  But  the  callers  had  left  and  they 
were  now  alone. 

As  Louise  sat  opposite  the  woman  who  had  taken  her 
under  her  charge,  Hugh  gazed  at  her  furtively  and  saw 
that  there  was  no  comparison  between  her  and  the  girl 
he  loved  so  deeply. 

How  strange  it  was,  he  thought.  If  he  asked  her  to 
be  his  wife  and  they  married,  he  would  at  once  become  a 
wealthy  man  and  inherit  all  his  father's  possessions. 
True,  she  wras  very  sweet  and  possessed  more  than  the 
ordinary  chic  and  good  taste  in  dress.  Yet  he  felt  that 
he  could  never  fulfil  his  dead  father's  curious  desire. 

He  could  never  marry  her — never! 


EIGHTEENTH  CHAPTER 

THE    MAN    WITH    THE   BLACK   GLOVE 

On  his  way  out  of  London,  Hugh  had  made  excuse 
and  stopped  the  car  at  a  post  office  in  Putney,  whence 
he  sent  an  express  note  to  Dorise,  telling  her  his 
change  of  address.     He  thought  it  wiser  not  to  post  it. 

Hence  it  was  that  on  the  morning  following  Louise's 
arrival  at  Shapley,  he  received  a  letter  from  Dorise, 
enclosing  one  she  had  received  under  cover  for  him. 
He  had  told  Dorise  to  address  him  as  "Mr.  Carlton 
Symes." 

It  was  on  dark-blue  paper,  such  as  is  usually  asso- 
ciated with  the  law  or  officialdom.  Written  in  a  neat, 
educated  hand,  it  read : 

"Dear  Mr.  Henfrey, — I  hear  that  you  have  left 
Abingdon  Road,  and  am  greatly  interested  to  know  the 
reason.  You  will,  no  doubt,  recognize  me  as  the  friend 
who  sent  a  car  for  you  at  Monte  Carlo.  Please  call 
at  the  above  address  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  Be 
careful  that  you  are  not  watched.  Say  nothing  to  any- 
body, wherever  you  may  be.  Better  call  about  ten-thirty 
p.m.,  and  ask  for  me.  Have  no  fear.  I  am  still  your 
friend, 

"George  Peters." 

The  address  given  was  14,  Ellerston  Street,  Mayfair. 

Hugh  knew  the  street,  which  turned  off  Curzon 
Street,  a  short  thoroughfare,  but  very  exclusive.  Some 
smart  society   folk  lived  there. 

204 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  BLACK  GLOVE  205 

But  who  was  George  Peters?  Was  it  not  The  Spar- 
row who  had  sent  him  the  car  with  the  facetious  chauf- 
feur to  that  spot  in  Monte  Carlo?  Perhaps  the  writer 
was  the   White   Cavalier ! 

During  the  morning  Hugh  strolled  down  the  hill  and 
through  the  woods  with  Louise.  The  latter  was  dressed 
in  a  neat  country  kit,  a  tweed  suit,  a  suede  tam-o'-shanter, 
and  carried  a  stout  ash-plant  as  a  walking-stick.  They 
were  out  together  until  luncheon  time. 

Meanwhile,  Benton  sat  with  his  hostess,  and  had  a 
long  confidential  chat. 

"You  see,  Molly,"  he  said,  as  he  smoked  lazily,  "I 
thought  it  an  excellent  plan  to  bring  them  together,  and 
to  let  them  have  an  opportunity  of  really  knowing  each 
other.  It's  no  doubt  true  that  he's  over  head  and  ears 
in  love  with  the  Ranscomb  girl,  but  Lady  Ranscomb 
has  set  her  mind  on  having  Sherrard  as  her  son-in-law. 
She's  a  clever  woman,  Lady  Ranscomb,  and  of  course, 
in  her  eyes,  Hugh  is  for  ever  beneath  a  cloud.  That 
he  went  to  the  woman's  house  at  night  is  quite  suffi- 
cient." 

"Well,  if  I  know  anything  of  young  men,  Charles, 
I  don't  think  you'll  ever  induce  that  boy  to  marry  Louise," 
remarked  the  handsome  adventuress  whom  nobody  sus- 
pected. 

"Then  if  he  doesn't,  we'll  just  turn  him  over  to  Scot- 
land Yard.  We  haven't  any  further  use  for  him,"  said 
Benton   savagely.     "It's   the   money   we   want." 

"And  I  fear  we  shall  go  on  wanting  it,  my  dear 
Charles,"  declared  the  woman,  who  was  so  well  versed 
in  the  ways  of  men.  "Louise  likes  him.  She  has  told 
me  so.  But  he  only  tolerates  her — that's  all !  He's 
obsessed  by  the  mystery  of  old  Henfrey's  death." 

'T  wonder  if  that  was  the  reason  he  went  that  night 


206    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

to  see  Yvonne?"  exclaimed  Benton  in  a  changed  voice, 
as  the  idea  suddenly  occurred  to  him.  "I  wonder  if — 
if  he  suspected  something,  and  went  boldly  and  asked 
her?" 

"Ah  !  I  wonder !"  echoed  the  woman.  "But  Yvonne 
would  surely  tell  him  nothing.  It  would  implicate  her 
far  too  deeply  if  she  did.  Yvonne  is  a  very  shrewd 
person.  She  isn't  likely  to  have  told  the  old  man's 
son  very  much." 

"No,  you're  right,  Molly,"  replied  the  man.  "You're 
quite  right!  I  don't  think  we  have  much  to  fear  on 
that  score.  We've  got  Hugh  with  us,  and  if  he  again 
turns  antagonistic  the  end  is  quite  easy — just  an  anony- 
mous line  to  the  police." 

"We  don't  want  to  do  that  if  there  is  any  other  way," 
the  woman  said. 

"I  don't  see  any  other  way,"  replied  the  adventurer. 
"If  he  won't  marry  Louise,  then  the  money  passes  out  of 
our  reach." 

"I  don't  like  The  Sparrow  taking  such  a  deep  interest 
in  his  welfare,"  growled  the  woman  beneath  her  breath. 

"And  I  don't  like  the  fact  that  Yvonne  is  still  alive. 
If  she  were  dead — then  we  should  have  nothing  to  fear 
— nothing!"   Benton   said   grimly. 

"But  who  fired  the  shot  if  Hugh  didn't?"  asked  Mrs. 
Bond. 

"Personally,  I  think  he  did.  He  discovered  some- 
thing— something  we  don't  yet  know — and  he  went  to 
the  Villa  Amette  and  shot  her  in  revenge  for  the  old 
man's  death.     That's  my  firm  belief." 

"Then  why  has  The  Sparrow  taken  all  these  elabo- 
rate precautions?" 

"Because  he's  afraid  himself  of  the  truth  coming 
out,"  said  Benton.    "He  certainly  has  looked  after  Hugh 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  BLACK  GLOVE  207 

very  well.  I  had  some  trouble  to  persuade  the  lad 
to  come  down  here,  for  he  evidently  believes  that  The 
Sparrow  is  his  best  friend." 

"He  may  find  him  his  enemy  one  day,"  laughed  the 
woman.  And  then  they  rose  and  strolled  out  into  the 
grounds,  across  the  lawn  down  to  the  great  pond. 

When  at  half -past  seven  they  sat  down  to  dinner,  Hugh 
suddenly  remarked  that  he  found  it  imperative  to  go 
to  London  that  evening,  and  asked  Mrs.  Bond  if  he  might 
have  the  car. 

Benton  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  but  said  nothing 
before  Louise. 

"Certainly ;  Mead  shall  take  you/'  was  the  woman's 
reply,  though  she  was  greatly  surprised  at  the  sudden 
request.  Both  she  and  Benton  instantly  foresaw  that 
his  intention  was  to  visit  Dorise  in  secret.  For  what 
other  reason  could  he  wish  to  run  the  risk  of  returning 
to  London? 

"When  do  you  wish  to  start?"  asked  his  hostess. 

"Oh!  about  nine — if  I  may,"  was  the  young  man's 
reply. 

"Will  you  be  back  to-night?"  asked  the  girl  who,  in 
a  pretty  pink  dinner  frock,  sat  opposite  him. 

"Yes.     But  it  won't  be  till  late,  I  expect,"  he  replied. 

"Remember,  to-morrow  we  are  going  for  a  run  to 
Bournemouth  and  back,"  said  the  girl.  "Mrs.  Bond  has 
kindly  arranged  it,  and  I  daresay  she  will  come,  too." 

"I  don't  know  yet,  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Bond.  The 
truth  was  that  she  intended  that  the  young  couple  should 
spend  the  day  alone  together. 

Benton  was  filled  with  curiosity. 

As  soon  as  the  meal  was  over,  and  the  two  ladies  had 
left  the  room,  he  poured  out  a  glass  of  port  and  turn- 
ing to  the  young  fellow,  remarked: 


208    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Don't  you  think  it's  a  bit  dangerous  to  go  to  town, 
Hugh?" 

"It  may  be,  but  I  must  take  the  risk,"  was  the  other's 
reply. 

"What  are  you  going  up  for?"  asked  Benton  bluntly. 

"To  see  somebody — important,"  was  his  vague  answer. 
And  though  the  elder  man  tried  time  after  time  to  get 
something  more  definite  from  him,  he  remained  silent. 
Had  not  his  unknown  friend  urged  him  to  say  nothing 
to  anybody  wherever  he  might  be? 

So  at  nine  Mead  drove  up  the  car  to  the  door,  and 
Hugh,  slipping  on  his  light  overcoat,  bade  his  hostess 
good-night,  thanked  her  for  allowing  him  the  use  of  the 
limousine,  and  promised  to  be  back  soon  after  midnight. 

"Good-night,  Hugh !"  cried  Louise  from  the  other 
end  of  the  fine  old  hall.  And  a  moment  later  the  car 
drove  away  in  the  darkness. 

Along  the  Hog's  Back  they  went,  and  down  into 
Guildford.  Then  up  the  long  steep  High  Street,  past 
the  ancient,  overhanging  clock  at  the  Guildhall,  and  out 
again  on  the  long  straight  road  to  Ripley  and  London. 

As  soon  as  they  were  beyond  Guildford,  he  knocked 
at  the  window,  and  afterwards  mounted  beside  Mead. 
He  hated  to  be  in  a  car  alone,  for  he  himself  was  a  good 
driver  and  used  always  to  drive  his  father's  old  "  'bus." 

"I'll  go  to  the  Berkeley  Hotel,"  he  said  to  the  man. 
"Drop  me  there,  and  pick  me  up  outside  there  at  twelve, 
will  you?" 

The  man  promised  to  do  so,  and  then  they  chatted 
as  they  continued  on  their  way  to  London.  Mead,  a 
Guildfordian,  knew  every  inch  of  the  road.  Before 
entering  Mrs.  Bond's  service  he  had,  for  a  month,  driven 
a  lorry  for  a  local  firm  of  builders,  and  went  constantly 
to  and  from  London. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  BLACK  GLOVE  209 

They  arrived  at  the  corner  of  St.  James's  Street  at 
half-past  ten.  Hugh  gave  Mead  five  shillings  to  get 
his  evening  meal,  and  said : 

"  Be  back  here  at  midnight,  Mead.  I  expect  I'll  be 
through  my  business  long  before  that.  But  it's  a  clear 
night,  and  we  shall  have  a  splendid  run  home." 

"Very  well,  sir.  Thank  you,"  replied  his  hostess's 
chauffeur. 

Hugh  Henfrey,  instead  of  entering  the  smart  Society 
hotel,  turned  up  the  street,  and,  walking  quickly,  found 
himself  ten  minutes  later  in  Ellerston  Street  before 
a  spacious  house,  upon  the  pale-green  door  of 
which  was  marked  in  Roman  numerals  the  number 
fourteen. 

By  the  light  of  the  street  lamp  he  saw  it  was  an 
old  Georgian  town  house.  Upon  the  railings  of  the  area 
two  ancient  link-extinguishers  were  fixed,  while  in  the 
ironwork  were  two  foot-scrapers,  relics  of  a  time  long 
before  macadam  or  wood  paving. 

The  house,  high  and  inartistic,  was  a  relic  of  the  days 
of  the  dandies,  when  country  squires  had  their  town 
houses,  and  before  labour  found  itself  in  London  draw- 
ing-rooms. Consumed  by  curiosity,  Hugh  pressed  the 
electric  button  marked  "visitors,"  and  a  few  moments 
later  a  smart  young  footman  opened  the  door. 

"Mr.  George  Peters?"  inquired  Hugh.  "I  have  an 
appointment." 

"What  name,  sir?"  the  young,  narrow-eyed  man  asked. 

"Henfrey." 

"Oh,  yes,  sir !  Mr.  Peters  is  expecting  you,"  he  said. 
And  at  once  he  conducted  him  along  the  narrow  hall 
to  a  room  beyond. 

The  house  was  beautifully  appointed.  Everywhere 
was   taste   and   luxury.     Even   in   the   hall   there   were 


210    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

portraits  by  old  Spanish  masters  and  many  rare  English 
sporting  prints. 

The  room  into  which  he  was  shown  was  a  long  apart- 
ment furnished  in  the  style  of  the  Georgian  era.  The 
genuine  Adams  ceiling,  mantelpiece,  and  dead  white 
walls,  with  the  faintly  faded  carpet  of  old  rose  and  light- 
blue,  were  all  in  keeping.  The  lights,  too,  were  shaded, 
and  over  all  was  an  old-world  atmosphere  of  quiet  and 
dignified  repose. 

The  room  was  empty,  and  Hugh  crossed  to  examine 
a  beautiful  little  marble  statuette  of  a  girl  bather,  with 
her  arms  raised  and  about  to  dive.  It  was,  no  doubt, 
a  gem  of  the  art  of  sculpture,  mounted  upon  a  pedestal 
or  dark-green  marble  which  revolved. 

The  whole  conception  was  delightful,  and  the  girl's 
laughing  face  was  most  perfect  in  its  portraiture. 

Of  a  sudden  the  door  reopened,  and  he  was  met  by  a 
stout,  rather  wizened  old  gentleman  with  white  bristly 
hair  and  closely  cropped  moustache,  a  man  whose  ruddy 
face  showed  good  living,  and  who  moved  with  the  brisk 
alertness  of  a  man  twenty  years  his  junior. 

"Ah !  here  you  are,  Mr.  Henf  rey !"  he  exclaimed 
warmly,  as  he  offered  his  visitor  his  hand.  Upon  the 
latter  was  a  well-worn  black  glove — evidentlv  to  hide 
either  some  disease  or  deformity.  "I  was  wondering  if 
you  received  my  letter  safely?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Hugh,  glancing  at  the  shrewd  little 
man  whose  gloved  right  hand  attracted  him. 

"Sit  down,"  the  other  said,  as  he  closed  the  door. 
"I'm  very  anxious  to  have  a  little  chat  with  you." 

Hugh  took  the  arm-chair  which  Mr.  Peters  indicated. 
Somehow  he  viewed  the  man  with  suspicion.  His  eyes 
were  small  and  piercing,  and  his  face  with  its  broad 
brow  and  narrow  chin  was  almost  triangular.     He  was 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  BLACK  GLOVE  211 

a  man  of  considerable  personality,  without  a  doubt.  His 
voice  was  high  pitched   and   rather  petulant. 

"Now,"  he  said.  "I  was  surprised  to  learn  that  you 
had  left  your  safe  asylum  in  Kensington.  Not  only  was 
I  surprised — but  I  confess,  I  was  alarmed." 

"I  take  it  that  I  have  to  thank  you  for  making  those 
arrangements  for  my  escape  from  Monte  Carlo?"  re- 
marked Hugh,  looking  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"No  thanks  are  needed,  my  dear  Mr.  Henf rey,"  replied 
the  elder  man.  "So  long  as  you  are  free,  what  mat- 
ters? But  I  do  not  wish  you  to  deliberately  run  risks 
which  are  so  easily  avoided.  Why  did  you  leave  Abing- 
don Road?" 

"I  was  advised  to  do  so  by  a  friend." 

"Not  by  Miss  Ranscomb,  I  am  sure." 

"No,  by  a  Mr.  Benton,  whom  I  know." 

The  old  man's  eyebrows  narrowed  for  a  second. 

"Benton?"  he  echoed.     "Charles  Benton — is  he?" 

"Yes.  As  he  was  a  friend  of  my  late  father  I  natu- 
rally  trust   him." 

Mr.    Peters   paused. 

"Oh,  naturally,"  he  said  a  second  later.  "But  where 
are  you  living  now?" 

Hugh  told  him  that  he  was  the  guest  of  Mrs.  Bond 
at  Shapley  Manor,  whereupon  Mr.  Peters  sniffed  sharply, 
and  rising,  obtained  a  box  of  good  cigars  from  a  cup- 
board near  the  fireplace. 

"You   went  there  at   Benton's   suggestion — eh?" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

Mr.  Peters  gave  a  grunt  of  undisguised  dissatisfac- 
tion, as  he  curled  himself  in  his  chair  and  examined 
carefully  the  young  man  before  him. 

"Now,  Mr.  Henfrey,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  am  very 
sorry  for  you.     I  happen  to  know  something  of  your 


212    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

present  position,  and  the  great  difficulty  in  which  you  are 
to-day  placed  by  the  clever  roguery  of  others.  Will 
you  please  describe  to  me  accurately  exactly  what  oc- 
curred on  that  fateful  night  at  the  Villa  Amette?  If  I 
am  to  assist  you  further  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  tell 
me  everything — remember,  everything !" 

Hugh  paused  and  looked  the  stranger  straight  in  the 
face. 

"I  thought  you  knew  all  about  it,"  he  said. 

"I  know  a  little — not  all.  I  want  to  know  everything. 
Why  did  you  venture  there  at  all?  You  did  not  know 
the  lady.  It  was  surely  a  very  unusual  hour  to  pay  a 
call?"  said  the  little  man,  his  shrewd  eyes  fixed  upon 
his  visitor. 

"Well,  Mr.  Peters,  the  fact  is  that  my  father  died  in 
very  suspicious  circumstances,  and  I  was  led  to  believe 
the  Mademoiselle  was  cognizant  of  the  truth." 

The  other  man  frowned  slightly. 

"And  so  you  went  there  with  the  purpose  of  getting 
the  truth  from  her — eh?"  he  remarked,  with  a  grunt. 

Hugh  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"What  did  she  tell  you  ?" 

"Nothing.  She  was  about  to  tell  me  something  when 
the  shot  was  fired  by  someone  on  the  veranda  outside." 

"H'm !  Then  the  natural  surmise  would  be  that  you, 
suspecting  that  woman  of  causing  your  father's  death, 
shot  her  because  she  refused  to  tell  you  anything — eh?" 

"I  repeat  she  was  about  to  disclose  the  circumstances 
— to  divulge  her  secret,  when  she  was  struck  down." 

"You  have  no  suspicion  of  anyone — eh?  You  don't 
think  that  her  manservant — I  forget  the  fellow's  name — 
fired  the  shot?  Remember,  he  was  not  in  the  room  at 
the  time !" 

"I  feel  confident  that  he  did  not.     He  was  far  too 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  BLACK  GLOVE  213 

distressed  at  the  terrible  affair,"  said  Hugh.  "The  out- 
rage must  have  been  committed  by  someone  to  whom  the 
preservation  of  the  secret  of  my  father's  end  was  of 
most  vital  importance." 

"Agreed,"  replied  the  man  with  the  black  glove.  "The 
problem  we  have  to  solve  is  who  was  responsible  for 
your  father's  death." 

"Yes,"  said  Hugh.  "If  that  shot  had  not  been  fired 
I  should  have  known  the  truth." 

"You  think,  then,  that  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo 
would  have  told  you  the  truth — eh?"  asked  the  bristly- 
haired  man  with  a  mysterious  smile. 

"Yes.     She  would." 

"Well,  Mr.  Henf  rey,  I  think  I  am  not  of  your  opinion." 

"You  think  possibly  she  would  have  implicated  her- 
self if  she  had  told  me  the  truth?" 

"I  do.  But  the  chief  reason  I  asked  you  to  call  and 
see  me  to-night  is  to  learn  for  what  reason  you  have 
been  induced  to  go  on  a  visit  to  this  Mrs.  Bond." 

"Because  Benton  suggested  it.  He  told  me  that  Scot- 
land Yard  knew  of  my  presence  in  Kensington,  making 
further  residence  there  dangerous." 

"H'm!"  And  the  man  with  the  black  glove  paused 
again. 

"You  don't  like  Benton,  do  you?" 

"I  have  no  real  reason  to  dislike  him.  He  has  always 
been  very  friendly  towards  me — as  he  was  to  my  late 
father.  The  only  thing  which  causes  me  to  hold  aloof 
from  him  as  much  I  can  is  the  strange  clause  in  my 
father's  will." 

"Strange  clause?"  echoed  the  old  man.  "What 
clause  ?" 

"My  father,  in  his  will,  cut  me  off  every  benefit  he 
could    unless    I    married    Benton's    adopted    daughter, 


214    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Louise.  If  I  marry  her,  then  I  obtain  a  quarter  of  a 
million.  I  at  first  thought  of  disputing  the  will,  but 
Mr.  Charman,  our  family  solicitor,  says  that  it  is  per- 
fectly in  order.  The  will  was  made  in  Paris  two  years 
before  his  death.  He  went  over  there  on  some  financial 
business." 

"Was  Benton  with  him?"  asked  Mr.  Peters. 

"No.  Benton  went  to  New  York  about  two  months 
before." 

"H'm !    And  how  soon  after  your  father's  return  did 

he  come  home?" 

"I  think  it  was  about  three  months.  He  was  in  Amer- 
ica five  months  altogether,  I  believe." 

The  old  man,  still  curled  in  his  chair,  smoked  his 
cigar  in  silence.     Apparently  he  was  thinking  deeply. 

"So  Benton  has  induced  you  to  go  down  to  Shapley 
in  order  that  you  shall  be  near  his  adopted  daughter, 
in  the  hope  that  you  will  marry  her!  In  the  meantime 
you  are  deeply  in  love  with  Lady  Ranscomb's  daughter. 
I  know  her — a  truly  charming  girl.  I  congratulate 
you,"  he  added,  as  though  speaking  to  himself.  "But  the 
situation  is  indeed  a  very  complicated  one." 

"For  me  it  is  terrible.  I  am  living  under  a  cloud, 
and  in  constant  fear  of  arrest.    What  can  be  done?" 

"I  fear  nothing  much  can  be  done  at  present,"  said 
the  old  man,  shaking  his  head  gravely.  "I  quite  realize 
that  you  are  victim  of  certain  enemies  who  intend  to 
get  hold  of  your  father's  fortune.  It  is  for  us  to  com- 
bat them — if  we  can." 

"Then  you  will  continue  to  help  me?"  asked  Hugh 
eagerly,  looking  into  the  mysterious  face  of  the  old  fel- 
low who  wore  the  black  kid  glove. 

"I  promise  you  my  aid,"  he  replied,  putting  out  his 
gloved  hand  as  pledge. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  BLACK  GLOVE  215 

Then,  as  Hugh  took  it,  he  looked  straight  into  those 
keen  eyes,  and  asked : 

"You  have  asked  me  many  questions,  sir,  and  I  have 
replied  to  them  all.    May  I  ask  one  of  you — my  friend?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  elder  man. 

"Then  am  I  correct  in  assuming  that  you  are  actu- 
ally the  person  of  whom  I  have  heard  so  much  up  and 
down  Europe — the  man  of  whom  certain  men  and  women 
speak  with  admiration,  and  with  bated  breath — the  man 
known  in  certain  circles  as — as  //  Passer 0?" 

The  countenance  of  the  little  man  with  the  bristly 
white  hair  and  the  black  glove  relaxed  into  a  smile,  as, 
still  holding  Hugh's  hand  in  friendship,  he  replied: 

"Yes.    It  is  true.    Some  know  me  as  'The  Sparrow !'  " 


NINETEENTH  CHAPTER 

THE   SPARROW 

Hugh  Henfrey  was  at  last  face  to  face  with  the  most 
notorious  criminal  in  Europe  ! 

The  black-gloved  hand  of  the  wizened,  bristly-haired 
old  man  was  the  hand  that  controlled  a  great  organiza- 
tion spread  all  over  Europe — an  organization  which  only 
knew  II  Passero  by  repute,  but  had  never  seen  him  in 
the  flesh. 

Yet  there  he  was,  a  discreet,  rather  petulant  old  gen- 
tleman, who  lived  at  ease  in  an  exclusive  West  End 
street,  and  was  entirely  unsuspected ! 

When  "Mr.  Peters"  admitted  his  identity,  Hugh  drew 
a  long  breath.  He  was  staggered.  He  was  profuse  in 
his  thanks,  but  "The  Sparrow"  merely  smiled,  saying: 

"It  is  true  that  I  and  certain  of  my  friends  make  war 
upon  Society — and  more  especially  upon  those  who  have 
profiteered  upon  those  brave  fellows  who  laid  down 
their  lives  for  us  in  the  war.  Whatever  you  have  heard 
concerning  me  I  hope  you  will  forgive,  Mr.  Henfrey. 
At  least  I  am  the  friend  of  those  who  are  in  distress,  or 
who  are  wrongly  judged — as  you  are  to-day." 

"I  have  heard  many  strange  things  concerning  you 
from  those  who  have  never  met  you,"  Hugh  said  frankly. 
''But  nothing  to  your  detriment.  Everyone  speaks  of 
you,  sir,  as  a  gallant  sportsman,  possessed  of  an  almost 
uncanny  cleverness  in  outwitting  the  authorities." 

"Oh.  well!"  laughed  the  shrewd  old  man.  "By  the 
exercise  of  a  little  wit,  and  the  possession  of  a  little 

216 


THE  SPARROW  217 

knowledge  of  the  personnel  of  the  police,  one  can  usually 
outwit  them.  Curious  as  you  may  think  it,  a  very  high 
official  at  Scotland  Yard  dined  with  me  here  only  last 
night.  As  I  am  known  as  a  student  of  criminology,  and 
reputed  to  be  the  author  of  a  book  upon  that  subject, 
he  discussed  with  me  the  latest  crime  problem  with  which 
he  had  been  called  upon  to  deal — the  mysterious  murder 
of  a  young  girl  upon  the  beach  on  the  north-east  coast. 
His  frankness  rather  amused  me.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
quaint  situation,"  he  laughed. 

"But  does  he  not  recognize  you,  or  suspect?"  asked 
Hugh. 

"Why  should  he?  I  have  never  been  through  the 
hands  of  the  police  in  my  life.  Hence  I  have  never  been 
photographed,  nor  have  my  finger  prints  been  taken.  I 
merely  organize — that  is  all." 

"Your  organization  is  most  wonderful,  Mr. — er — Mr. 
Peters,"  declared  the  young  man.  "Since  my  flight  I 
have  had  opportunity  of  learning  something  concerning 
it.    And  frankly,  I  am  utterly  astounded." 

The  old  man's  face  again  relaxed  into  a  sphinx-like 
smile. 

"When  I  order,  I  am  obeyed,"  he  said  in  a  curious 
tone.  "I  ordered  your  rescue  from  that  ugly  situation 
in  Monte  Carlo.  You  and  Miss  Ranscomb  no  doubt 
believed  the  tall  man  who  went  to  the  ball  at  Nice  as  a 
cavalier  to  be  myself.  He  did  not  tell  you  anything  to 
the  contrary,  because  I  only  reveal  my  identity  to  per- 
sons whom  I  can  trust,  and  then  only  in  cases  of  extreme 
necessity." 

"Then  I  take  it,  sir,  that  you  trust  me,  and  that  my 
case  is  one  of  extreme  necessity  ?" 

"It  is,"  was  The  Sparrow's  reply.  "At  present  I  can 
see  no  solution  of  the  problem.    It  will  be  best,  perhaps, 


2i8    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

for  you  to  remain  where  you  are  for  the  present,"  he 
added.  He  did  not  tell  the  young  man  of  his  knowledge 
of  Benton  and  his  hostess. 

"But  I  am  very  desirous  of  seeing  Miss  Ranscomb," 
Hugh  said.  "Is  there  any  way  possible  by  which  I  can 
meet  her  without  running  too  great  a  risk?" 

The  Sparrow  reflected  in  silence  for  some  moments. 
"To-day  is  Wednesday,"  he  remarked  slowly  at  last. 
"Miss  Ranscomb  is  in  London.  That  I  happen  to  know. 
Well,  go  to  the  Bush  Hotel,  in  Farnham,  on  Friday 
afternoon  and  have  tea.  She  will  probably  motor  there 
and  take  tea  with  you." 

"Will  she?"  cried  Hugh  eagerly.     "Will  you  arrange 
it  ?    You  are,  indeed,  a  good  Samaritan !" 
The  little  old  man  smiled. 

"I  quite  understand  that  this  enforced  parting  under 
such  circumstances  is  most  unfortunate  for  you  both," 
he  said.  "But  I  have  done,  and  will  continue  to  do,  all 
I  can  in  your  interest." 

"I  can't  quite  make  you  out,  Mr.  Peters,"  said  the 
young  man.  "Why  should  you  evince  such  a  paternal 
interest  in  me?" 

The  Sparrow  did  not  at  once  reply.  A  strange  ex- 
pression played  about  his  lips. 

"Have  I  not  already  answered  that  question  twice?" 
he  asked.  "Rest  assured,  Mr.  Henfrey,  that  I  have  your 
interests  very  much  at  heart." 

"You  have  some  reason  for  that,  I'm  sure." 
"Well — yes,  I  have  a  reason — a  reason  which  is  my 
own  affair."     And  he  rose  to  wish  his  visitor  "good- 
night." 

"I'll  not  forget  to  let  Miss  Ranscomb  know  that  you 
will  be  at  Farnham.  She  will,  no  doubt,  manage  to  get 
her  mother's  car  for  the  afternoon,"  he  said.     "Good- 


THE  SPARROW  219 

night!"  and  with  his  gloved  fingers  he  took  the  young 
man's  outstretched  hand. 

The  instant  he  heard  the  front  door  close  he  crossed 
to  the  telephone,  and  asking  for  a  number,  told  the  per- 
son who  answered  it  to  come  round  and  see  him  without 
a  moment's  delay. 

Thus,  while  Hugh  Henf  rey  was  seated  beside  Mead  as 
Mrs.  Bond's  car  went  swiftly  towards  Kensington,  a  thin, 
rather  wiry-looking  man  of  middle  age  entered  The  Spar- 
row's room. 

The  latter  sprang  to  his  feet  quickly  at  sight  of  his 
visitor. 

"Ah !  Howell !  I'm  glad  you've  come.  Benton  and 
Molly  Maxwell  are  deceiving  us.    They  mean  mischief !" 

The  man  he  addressed  as  Howell  looked  aghast. 

"Mischief?"  he  echoed.     "In  what  way?" 

"I've  not  yet  arrived  at  a  full  conclusion.  But  we 
must  be  on  the  alert  and  ready  to  act  whenever  the  time 
is  ripe.  You  know  what!  they  did  over  that  little  affair 
in  Marseilles  not  so  very  long  ago?  They'll  repeat,  if 
we're  not  very  careful.  That  girl  of  Benton's  they  are 
using  as  a  decoy — and  she's  a  dangerous  one." 

"For  whom?" 

"For  old  Henfrey's  son." 

The  Sparrow's  visitor  gave  vent  to  a  low  whistle. 

"They  intend  to  get  old  Henfrey's  money — eh  ?" 

"Yes — and  they  will  if  we  are  not  very  wary,"  de- 
clared the  little,  bristly-haired  old  gentleman  known  as 
The  Sparrow.  "The  boy  has  been  entirely  entrapped. 
They  made  one  faux  pas,  and  it  is  upon  that  we  may — if 
we  are  careful — get  the  better  of  them.  I  don't  like  the 
situation  at  all.  They  have  a  distinctly  evil  design 
against  the  boy." 

"Benton  and  Molly  are  a  combination  pretty  hard  to 


220    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

beat,"  remarked  Mr.  Howell.  "But  I  thought  they  were 
friends  of  ours." 

"True.  They  were.  But  after  the  little  affair  in 
Marseilles  I  don't  trust  them,"  replied  The  Sparrow. 
"When  anyone  makes  a  slip,  either  by  design  or  sheer 
carelessness,  or  perhaps  by  reason  of  inordinate  avarice, 
then  I  always  have  to  safeguard  myself.  I  suspect — 
and  my  suspicion  usually  proves  correct." 

His  midnight  visitor  drew  a  long  breath. 

"What  we  all  say  of  you  is  that  The  Sparrow  is  gifted 
with  an  extra  sense,"  he  said. 

The  little  old  man  with  the  gloved  hand  smiled  con- 
tentedly. 

"I  really  don't  know  why,"  he  said.  "But  I  scent 
danger  long  before  others  have  any  suspicion  of  it.  If  I 
did  not,  you  would,  many  of  you  who  are  my  friends, 
have  been  in  prison  long  ago." 

"But  you  have  such  a  marvellous  memory." 

"Memory !"  he  echoed.  "Quite  wrong.  I  keep  every- 
thing filed.  I  work  yonder  at  my  desk  all  day.  See  this 
old  wardrobe,"  and  he  crossed  to  a  long,  genuine  Ja- 
cobean wardrobe  which  stood  in  a  corner  and,  unlocking 
it,  opened  the  carved  doors.  "There  you  see  all  my 
plans  arranged  and  docketed.  I  can  tell  you  what  has 
been  attempted  to-night.  Whether  the  coup  is  successful 
I  do  not  yet  know." 

Within  were  shelves  containing  many  bundles  of  pa- 
pers, each  tied  with  pink  tape  in  legal  fashion.  He  took 
out  a  small,  black-covered  index  book  and,  after  con- 
sulting it,  drew  out  a  file  of  papers  from  the  second  shelf. 

These  he  brought  to  his  table,  and  opened. 

"Ah,  yes !"  he  said,  knitting  his  brows  as  he  read  a 
document  beneath  the  green-shaded  electric  lamp.  "You 
know  Franklyn,  don't  you  ?" 


THE  SPARROW  221 

"Harold  Franklyn  ?" 

"Yes.  Well,  he's  in  the  Tatra,  in  Hungary.  He  and 
Matthews  are  with  three  Austrian  friends  of  ours,  and 
to-night  they  are  at  the  Castle  of  Szombat,  belonging  to 
Count  Zsolcza,  the  millionaire  banker  of  Vienna.  The 
Countess  has  some  very  valuable  jewels,  which  were  indi- 
cated to  me  several  months  ago  by  her  discharged  lady's 
maid — through  another  channel,  of  course.  I  hope  that 
before  dawn  the  jewels  will  be  no  longer  at  Szombat,  for 
the  Count  is  an  old  scoundrel  who  cornered  the  people's 
food  in  Austria  just  before  the  Armistice  and  is  directly 
responsible  for  an  enormous  amount  of  suffering.  The 
Countess  was  a  cafe  singer  in  Budapest.  Her  name  was 
Anna  Torna." 

Mr.  Howell  sat  open-mouthed.  He  was  a  crook  and 
the  bosom  friend  of  the  great  Passero.  Like  all  others 
who  knew  him,  he  held  the  master  criminal  in  awe  and 
admiration.  The  Sparrow,  whatever  he  was,  never  did 
a  mean  action  and  never  took  advantage  of  youth  or 
inexperience.  To  his  finger-tips  he  was  a  sportsman, 
whose  chief  delight  in  life  was  to  outwit  and  puzzle  the 
police  of  Europe.  In  the  underworld  he  was  believed  to 
be  fabulously  wealthy,  as  no  doubt  he  was.  To  the  out- 
side world  he  was  a  very  rich  old  gentleman,  who  con- 
tributed generously  to  charities,  kept  two  fine  cars,  and, 
as  well  as  his  town  house,  had  a  pretty  place  down  in 
Gloucestershire,  and  usually  rented  a  grouse  moor  in 
Scotland,  where  he  entertained  Mr.  Howell  and  several 
other  of  his  intimate  friends  who  were  in  the  same  profit- 
able profession  as  himself,  and  in  whose  "business"  he 
held  a  controlling  interest. 

In  Paris,  Rome,  Madrid,  or  Brussels,  he  was  well 
known  as  an  idler  who  stayed  at  the  best  hotels  and 
patronized  the  most  expensive  restaurants,  while  his  villa 


222    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

on  the  Riviera  he  had  purchased  from  a  Roumanian 
prince  who  had  ruined  himself  by  gambling.  His  gloved 
hand — gloved  because  of  a  natural  deformity — was  the 
hand  which  controlled  most  of  the  greater  robberies,  for 
his  war  upon  society  was  constantly  far-reaching. 

"Is  Franklyn  coming  straight  back  ?"  asked  Howell. 

"That  is  the  plan.  He  should  leave  Vienna  to-morrow 
night,"  said  The  Sparrow,  again  consulting  the  papers. 
"And  he  comes  home  with  all  speed.  But  first  he  travels 
to  Brussels,  and  afterwards  to  The  Hague,  where  he  will 
hand  over  Anna  Torna's  jewels  to  old  Van  Ort,  and 
they'll  be  cut  out  of  all  recognition  by  the  following  day. 
Franklyn  will  then  cross  from  the  Hook  to  Harwich. 
He  will  wire  me  his  departure  from  Vienna.  He's  bought 
a  car  for  the  job,  and  will  have  to  abandon  it  some- 
where outside  Vienna,  for,  as  in  most  of  our  games,  time 
is  the  essence  of  the  contract,"  and  the  old  fellow  laughed 
oddly. 

"I  thought  Franklyn  worked  with  Molly,"  said  Mr. 
Howell. 

"So  he  does.  I  want  him  back,  for  I've  a  delicate 
mission  for  him,"  replied  the  sphinx-like  man  known  as 
The  Sparrow. 

Mr.  Howell,  at  the  invitation  of  the  arch-criminal, 
helped  himself  to  a  drink.    Then  The  Sparrow  said : 

"You  are  due  to  leave  London  the  day  after  to-morrow 
on  that  little  business  in  Madrid.  You  must  remain  in 
town.    I  may  want  you." 

"Very  well.  But  Tresham  is  already  there.  I  had  a 
letter  from  him  from  the  Palace  Hotel  yesterday." 

"I  will  recall  him  by  wire  to-morrow.  Our  plans  are 
complete.  The  Marquis's  picture  will  still  hang  in  his 
house  until  we  are  ready  for  it.  It  is  the  best  specimen 
of  Antonio  del  Rincon,  and  will  fetch  a  big  price  in  New 


THE  SPARROW  223 

York — when  we  have  time  to  go  and  get  it,"  he  laughed. 

"Is  Franklyn  to  help  the  Maxwell  woman  again?" 
asked  Mr.  Howell,  who  was  known  as  an  expert  valuer  of 
antiques  and  articles  of  worth,  and  who  had  an  office  in 
St.  James's.  He  only  dealt  in  collectors'  pieces,  and  in 
the  trade  bore  an  unblemished  reputation,  on  account  of 
his  expert  knowledge  and  his  sound  financial  condition. 
He  bought  old  masters  and  pieces  of  antique  silver  now 
and  then,  but  none  suspected  that  the  genuine  purchases 
at  big  prices  were  only  made  in  order  to  blind  his  friends 
as  to  the  actual  nature  of  his  business. 

Indeed,  to  his  office  came  many  an  art  gem  stolen  from 
its  owner  on  the  Continent  and  smuggled  over  by  devious 
ways  known  only  to  The  Sparrow  and  his  associates. 
And  just  as  ingeniously  the  stolen  property  was  sent 
across  to  America,  so  well  camouflaged  that  the  United 
States  Customs  officers  were  deceived.  With  pictures  it 
was  their  usual  method  to  coat  the  genuine  picture  with 
a  certain  varnish,  over  which  one  of  the  organization,  an 
old  artist  living  in  Chelsea,  would  paint  a  modern  and 
quite  passable  picture  and  add  a  new  canvas  back. 

Then,  on  its  arrival  in  America,  the  new  picture  was 
easily  cleaned  off,  the  back  removed,  and  lo !  it  was  an 
old  master  once  more  ready  for  purchase  at  a  high  price 
by  American  collectors. 

Truly,  the  gloved  hand  of  The  Sparrow  was  a  master 
hand.  He  had  brought  well-financed  and  well-organized 
theft  to  a  fine  art.  His  "indicators,"  both  male  and 
female,  were  everywhere,  and  cosmopolitan  as  he  was 
himself,  and  a  wealthy  man,  he  was  able  to  direct — and 
finance — all  sorts  of  coups,  from  a  barefaced  jewel  theft 
to  the  forgery  of  American  banknotes. 

And  yet,  so  strange  and  mysterious  a  personality  was 
he  that  not  twenty  persons  in  the  whole  criminal  world 


224    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

had  ever  met  him  in  the  flesh.  The  tall,  good-looking 
man  whom  Dorise  knew  as  the  White  Cavalier  was  one 
of  four  other  men  who  posed  in  his  stead  when  occasion 
arose. 

Scotland  Yard,  the  Surete  in  Paris,  the  Pubblica  Si- 
curezza  in  Rome,  and  the  Detective  Department  of  the 
New  York  police  knew,  quite  naturally,  of  the  existence 
of  the  elusive  Sparrow,  but  none  of  them  had  been  able 
to  trace  him. 

Why?  Because  he  was  only  the  brains  of  the  great, 
widespread  criminal  organization.  He  remained  in  smug 
respectability,  while  others  beneath  his  hand  carried  out 
his  orders — they  were  the  servants,  well-paid  too,  and  he 
was  the  master. 

No  more  widespread  nor  more  wonderful  criminal 
combine  had  ever  been  organized  than  that  headed  by 
The  Sparrow,  the  little  old  man  whom  Londoners  believed 
to  be  Cockney,  yet  Italians  believed  to  be  pure-bred 
Tuscan,  while  in  Paris  he  was  a  true  Parisian  who  could 
speak  the  argot  of  the  Montmartre  without  a  trace  of 
English  accent. 

As  a  politician,  as  a  City  man,  as  a  professional  man, 
The  Sparrow,  whose  real  name  was  as  obscure  as  his 
personality,  would  have  made  his  mark.  If  a  lawyer,  he 
would  have  secured  the  honour  of  a  knighthood — or  of  a 
baronetcy,  and  more  than  probable  he  would  have  en- 
tered Parliament. 

The  Sparrow  was  a  philosopher,  and  a  thorough-going 
Englishman  to  boot.  Though  none  knew  it,  he  was  able 
by  his  unique  knowledge  of  the  underworld  of  Europe 
to  give  information — as  he  did  anonymously  to  the  War 
Office — of  certain  trusted  persons  who  were,  at  the  mo- 
ment of  the  outbreak  of  war,  betraying  Britain's  secrets. 

The  Department  of  Military  Operations  was,  by  means 


THE  SPARROW  225 

of  the  anonymous  information,  able  to  quash  a  gigantic 
German  plot  against  us ;  but  they  had  been  unable  to  dis- 
cover either  the  true  source  of  their  information  or  the 
identity  of  their  informant. 

"I'd  better  be  off.  It's  late !"  said  Mr.  Howell,  after 
they  had  been  in  close  conversation  for  nearly  half  an 
hour. 

"Yes  ;  I  suppose  you  must  go,"  The  Sparrow  remarked, 
rising.  "I  must  get  Franklyn  back.  He  must  get  to  the 
bottom  of  this  curious  affair.  I  feel  that  I  am  being 
bamboozled  by  Benton  and  Molly  Maxwell.  The  boy  is 
innocent — he  is  their  victim,"  he  added;  "but  if  I  can 
save  him,  by  gad !  I  will !  Yet  it  will  be  difficult.  There 
is  much  trouble  ahead,  I  anticipate,  and  it  is  up  to  us, 
Howell,  to  combat  it !" 

"Perhaps  Franklyn  can  assist  us?" 

"Perhaps.  I  shall  not,  however,  know  before  he  gets 
back  here  from  his  adventures  in  Hungary.  But  I  tell 
you,  Howell,  I  am  greatly  concerned  about  the  lad.  He 
has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  bad  crowd — a  very  bad 
crowd  indeed." 


TWENTIETH  CHAPTER 

THE    MAN    WHO    KNEW 

Late  on  Thursday  night  Dorise  and  her  mother  were 
driving  home  from  Lady  Strathbayne's,  in  Grosvenor 
Square,  where  they  had  been  dining.  It  was  a  bright 
starlight  night,  and  the  myriad  lamps  of  the  London  traffic 
flashed  past  the  windows  as  Dorise  sat  back  in  silence. 

She  was  tired.  The  dinner  had  been  followed  by  a 
small  dance,  and  she  had  greatly  enjoyed  it.  For  once, 
George  Sherrard,  her  mother's  friend,  had  not  accom- 
panied them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Lady  Strathbayne  dis- 
liked the  man,  hence  he  had  not  been  invited. 

Suddenly  Lady  Ranscomb  exclaimed : 

"I  heard  about  Hugh  Henfrey  this  evening." 

"From  whom?"  asked  her  daughter,  instantly  aroused. 

"From  that  man  who  took  me  in  to  dinner.  I  think  his 
name  was  Bowden." 

"Oh !    That  stout,  red-faced  man.    I  don't  know  him." 

"Neither  do  I.  He  was,  however,  very  pleasant,  and 
seems  to  have  travelled  a  lot,"  replied  her  mother.  "He 
told  me  that  your  precious  friend,  Henfrey,  is  back,  and 
is  staying  down  in  Surrey  as  guest  of  some  woman  named 
Bond." 

Dorise  sat  staggered.  Then  her  lover's  secret  was  out ! 
If  his  whereabouts  were  known  in  Society,  then  the  police 
would  quickly  get  upon  his  track !  She  felt  she  must 
warn  him  instantly  of  his  peril. 

"How  did  he  know,  I  wonder?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"Oh !  I  suppose  he's  heard.     He  seemed  to  know  all 

226 


THE  MAN  WHO  KNEW  227 

about  the  fellow.     It  appears  that  at  last  he's  become 
engaged." 

"Engaged  ?     Hugh   engaged  ?" 

"Yes,  to  a  girl  named  Louise  Lambert.  She's  the 
adopted  daughter  of  a  man  named  Benton,  who  was, 
by  the  way,  a  great  friend  of  old  Mr.  Henfrey." 

Hugh  engaged  to  Louise  Lambert !  Dorise  sat  be- 
wildered. 

"I— I  don't  believe  it!"  she  blurted  forth  at  last. 

"Ah,  my  dear.  You  mean  you  don't  want  to  believe 
it — because  you  are  in  love  with  him!"  said  her  mother 
as  the  car  rushed  homeward.  "Now  put  all  this  silly 
girlish  nonsense  aside.  The  fellow  is  under  a  cloud, 
and  no  good.  I  tell  you  frankly  I  will  never  have  him 
as  my  son-in-law.  How  he  has  escaped  the  police  is  a 
marvel ;  but  if  the  man  Bowden  knows  where  he  is, 
Scotland  Yard  will,  no  doubt,  soon  hear." 

The  girl  remained  silent.  Could  it  be  possible  that, 
after  all,  Hugh  had  asked  Louise  Lambert  to  be  his  wife? 
She  had  known  of  her,  and  had  met  her  with  Hugh, 
but  he  had  always  assured  her  that  they  were  merely 
friends.  Yet  it  appeared  that  he  was  now  living  in  con- 
cealment under  the  same  roof  as  she  ! 

Lady  Ranscomb,  clever  woman  of  the  world  as  she 
was,  watched  her  daughter's  face  in  the  fleeting  lights 
as  they  sped  homeward,  and  saw  what  a  crushing  blow 
the  announcement  had  dealt  her. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  the  girl  cried. 

She  had  received  word  in  secret — presumably  from  the 
White  Cavalier — to  meet  Hugh  at  the  Bush  Hotel  at 
Farnham  on  the  following  afternoon,  but  this  secret  news 
held  her  in  doubt  and  despair. 

Lady  Ranscomb  dropped  the  subject,  and  began  to 
speak  of  other  things — of  a  visit  to  the  flying-ground  at 


228    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Hendon  on  the  following  day,  and  of  an  invitation  they 
had  received  to  spend  the  following  week  with  a  friend 
at  Cowes. 

On  arrival  home  Dorise  went  at  once  to  her  room, 
where  her  maid  awaited  her. 

After  the  distracted  girl  had  thrown  off  her  cloak,  her 
maid  unhooked  her  dress,  whereupon  Dorise  dismissed 
her  to  bed. 

"I  want  to  read,  so  go  to  bed,"  she  said  in  a  petulant 
voice  which  rather  surprised  the  neat  muslin-aproned 
maid. 

"Very  well,  miss.  Good-night,"  the  latter  replied 
meekly. 

But  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed  Dorise  flung  her- 
self upon  the  chintz-covered  couch  and  wept  bitterly  as 
though  her  heart  would  break. 

She  had  met  Louise  Lambert — it  was  Hugh  who  had 
introduced  them.  George  Sherrard  had  several  times  told 
her  of  the  friendship  between  the  pair,  and  one  night  at 
the  Haymarket  Theatre  she  had  seen  them  together  in  a 
box.  On  another  occasion  she  had  met  them  at  Ciro's, 
and  they  had  been  together  at  the  Embassy,  at  Ranelagh, 
and  yet  still  again  she  had  seen  them  lunching  together 
one  Sunday  at  the  Metropole  at  Brighton. 

All  this  had  aroused  suspicion  and  jealousy  in  her 
mind.  It  was  all  very  well  for  Hugh  to  disclaim  any- 
thing further  than  pure  friendship,  but  now  that  Gossip 
was  casting  her  hydra-headed  venom  upon  their  affairs, 
it  was  surely  time  to  act. 

Hugh  would  be  awaiting  her  at  Farnham  next  after- 
noon. 

She  crossed  to  the  window  and  looked  at  the  bright 
stars.     In  war  time  she  used  to  see  the  long  beams  of 


THE  MAN  WHO  KNEW  229 

searchlights  playing  to  and  fro.  But  now  all  was  peace 
in  London,  and  the  world-war  half  forgotten. 

Within  herself  arose  a  great  struggle.  Hugh  was  ac- 
cused of  a  crime — an  accusation  of  which  he  could  not 
clear  himself.  He  had  been  hunted  across  Europe  by 
the  police  and  had,  up  to  the  present,  been  successful  in 
slipping  through  their  fingers. 

But  why  did  he  visit  that  notorious  woman  at  that 
hour  of  the  night?  What  could  have  been  the  secret  bond 
between  them? 

The  woman  had  narrowly  escaped  death  presumably 
on  account  of  his  murderous  attack  upon  her,  while  he 
had  cleverly  evaded  arrest,  until,  at  the  present  moment, 
his  whereabouts  was  known  only  to  a  dinner-table  gos- 
sip, and  he  was  staying  in  the  same  house  as  the  girl, 
love  for  whom  he  had  always  so  vehemently  disclaimed. 

Poor  Dorise  spent  a  sleepless  night.  She  lay  awake 
thinking — and  yet  thinking! 

At  breakfast  her  mother  looked  at  her  and,  with  satis- 
faction, saw  that  she  had  gained  a  point  nearer  her  ob- 
ject. 

Dorise  went  into  Bond  Street  shopping  at  eleven 
o'clock,  still  undecided  whether  to  face  Hugh  or  not. 
The  shopping  was  a  fiasco.  She  bought  only  a  bunch  of 
flowers. 

But  in  her  walk  she  made  a  resolve  not  to  make  further 
excuse.  She  would  not  ask  her  mother  for  the  car,  and 
Hugh,  by  waiting  alone,  should  be  left  guessing. 

On  returning  home,  her  mother  told  her  of  George's 
acceptance  of  an  invitation  to  lunch. 

"There's  a  matinee  at  the  Lyric,  and  he's  taking  us 
there,"  she  added.  "But,  dear,"  she  went  on,  "you  look 
ever  so  pale !    What  is  worrying  you  ?     I  hope  you  are 


230    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

not  fretting  over  that  good-for-nothing  waster,  Henfrey! 
Personally,  I'm  glad  to  be  rid  of  a  fellow  who  is  wanted 
by  the  police  for  a  very  serious  crime.  Do  brighten  up, 
dear.    This  is  not  like  you  !" 

"I — well,  mother,  I — I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  the 
girl  confessed. 

"Do !  Take  my  advice,  darling.  Think  no  more  of 
the  fellow.    He's  no  use  to  you — or  to  me." 

"But,  mother  dear " 

"No,  Dorise,  no  more  need  be  said !"  interrupted  Lady 
Ranscomb  severely.  "You  surely  would  not  be  so  idiotic 
as  to  throw  in  your  lot  with  a  man  who  is  certainly  a 
criminal." 

"A  criminal!     Why  do  you  denounce  him,  mother?" 

"Well,  he  stands  self-condemned.  He  has  been  in 
hiding  ever  since  that  night  at  Monte  Carlo.  If  he  were 
innocent,  he  would  surely,  for  your  sake,  come  forward 
and  clear  himself.  Are  you  mad,  Dorise — or  are  you 
blind?" 

The  girl  remained  silent.  Her  mother's  argument  was 
certainly  a  very  sound  one.    Had  Hugh  deceived  her? 

Her  lover's  attitude  was  certainly  that  of  a  guilty  man. 
She  could  not  disguise  from  herself  the  fact  that  he  was 
fleeing  from  justice,  and  that  he  was  unable  to  give  an 
explanation  why  he  went  to  the  house  of  Mademoiselle 
at  all. 

Yvonne  Ferad,  the  only  person  who  could  tell  the 
truth,  was  a  hopeless  idiot  because  of  the  murderous 
attack.  Hence,  the  onus  of  clearing  himself  rested  upon 
Hugh. 

She  loved  him,  but  could  she  really  trust  him  in  face  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  concealed  comfortably  beneath  the 
same  roof  as  Louise  Lambert  ? 

She  recalled  that  once,  when  they  had  met  at  New- 


THE  MAN  WHO  KNEW  231 

quay  in  Cornwall  over  a  tete-a-tete  lunch,  he  had  said, 
in  reply  to  her  banter,  that  Louise  was  a  darling !  That 
he  was  awfully  fond  of  her,  that  she  had  most  wonderful 
eyes,  and  that  she  was  always  alert  and  full  of  a  keen 
sense  of  humour. 

Such  a  compliment  Hugh  had  never  paid  to  her.  The 
recollection  of  it  stung  her. 

She  wondered  what  sort  of  woman  was  the  person 
named  Bond.  Then  she  decided  that  she  had  acted 
wisely  in  not  going  to  Farnham.  Why  should  she?  If 
Hugh  was  with  the  girl  he  admired,  then  he  might  return 
with  her. 

Her  only  fear  was  lest  he  should  be  arrested.  If  his 
place  of  concealment  were  spoken  of  over  a  West-End 
dinner-table,  then  it  could  not  be  long  before  detectives 
arrested  him  for  the  affair  at  the  Villa  Amette. 

On  that  afternoon  Hugh  had  borrowed  Mrs.  Bond's 
car  upon  a  rather  lame  pretext,  and  had  pulled  up  in  the 
square,  inartistic  yard  before  the  Bush — the  old  coach- 
ing house,  popular  before  the  new  road  over  the  Hog's 
Back  was  made,  and  when  the  coaches  had  to  ascend  that 
steep  hill  out  of  Guildford,  now  known  as  The  Mount. 
For  miles  the  old  road  is  now  grass-grown  and  forms  a 
most  delightful  walk,  with  magnificent  views  from  the 
Thames  Valley  to  the  South  Downs.  The  days  of  the 
coaches  have,  alas !  passed,  and  the  new  road,  with  its 
tangle  of  telegraph  wires,  is  beloved  by  every  motorist 
and  motor-cyclist  who  spins  westward  in  Surrey. 

Hugh  waited  anxiously  in  the  little  lounge  which  over- 
looks the  courtyard.  He  went  into  the  garden,  and  after- 
wards stood  in  impatience  beneath  the  archway  from 
which  the  street  is  approached.  Later,  he  strolled  along 
the  road  over  which  he  knew  Dorise  must  come.  But 
all  to  no  avail. 


232    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

There  was  no  sign  of  her. 

Until  six  o'clock  he  waited,  when,  in  blank  despair, 
he  mounted  beside  Mead  again  and  drove  back  to  Shapley 
Manor.  It  was  curious  that  Dorise  had  not  come  to 
meet  him,  but  he  attributed  it  to  The  Sparrow's  inability 
to  convey  a  message  to  her.  She  might  have  gone  out 
of  town  with  her  mother,  he  thought.  Or,  perhaps,  at  the 
last  moment,  she  had  been  unable  to  get  away. 

On  his  return  to  Shapley  he  found  Louise  and  Mrs. 
Bond  sitting  together  in  the  charming,  old-world  draw- 
ing room.     A  log  fire  was  burning  brightly. 

"Did  you  have  a  nice  run,  Hugh?"  asked  the  girl, 
clasping  her  hands  behind  her  head  and  looking  up  at 
him  as  he  stood  upon  the  pale-blue  hearthrug. 

"Quite,"  he  replied.  "I  went  around  Hindhead  down 
to  Frensham  Ponds  and  back  through  Farnham — quite 
a  pleasant  run." 

"Mr  Benton  has  had  to  go  to  town,"  said  his  hostess. 
"Almost  as  soon  as  you  had  gone  he  was  rung  up,  and 
he  had  to  get  a  taxi  out  from  Guildford.  He'll  be  back 
to-morrow." 

"Oh,  yes — and,  by  the  way,  Hugh,"  exclaimed  Louise, 
"there  was  a  call  for  you  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
afterwards.  I  thought  nobody  knew  you  were  down 
here." 

"For  me !"  gasped  Henfrey,  instantly  alarmed. 

"Yes,  I  answered  the  'phone.    It  was  a  girl's  voice !" 

"A  girl!    Who?" 

"I  don't  know  who  she  was.  She  wouldn't  give  her 
name,"  Louise  replied.  "She  asked  if  we  were  Shapley, 
and  I  replied.  Then  she  asked  for  you.  I  told  her  that 
you  were  out  in  the  car  and  asked  her  name.  But  she 
said  it  didn't  matter  at  all,  and  rang  off." 

"I   wonder   who    she   was?"    remarked   Hugh,   much 


THE  MAN  WHO  KNEW  233 

puzzled  and,  at  the  same  time,  greatly  alarmed.  He 
scented  danger.  The  fact  in  itself  showed  that  some- 
body knew  the  secret  of  his  hiding-place,  and,  if  they 
did,  then  the  police  were  bound  to  discover  him  sooner 
or  later. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  he  took  Mrs.  Bond  aside, 
and  pointed  out  the  peril  in  which  he  was  placed.  His 
hostess,  on  her  part,  grew  alarmed,  for  though  Hugh 
was  unaware  of  it,  she  had  no  desire  to  meet  the  police. 
That  little  affair  in  Paris  was  by  no  means  forgotten. 

"It  is  certainly  rather  curious,"  the  woman  admitted. 
"Evidently  it  is  known  by  somebody  that  you  are  staying 
with  me.    Don't  you  think  it  would  be  wiser  to  leave  ?" 

Hugh  hesitated.  He  wished  to  take  Benton's  advice, 
and  told  his  hostess  so.  With  this  she  agreed,  yet  she 
was  inwardly  highly  nervous  at  the  situation.  Any  police 
inquiry  at  Shapley  would  certainly  be  most  unwelcome  to 
her,  and  she  blamed  herself  for  agreeing  to  Benton's 
proposal  that  Hugh  should  stay  there. 

"Benton  will  be  back  to-morrow,"  Hugh  said.  "Do 
you  think  it  safe  for  me  to  remain  here  till  then?"  he 
added  anxiously. 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  think,"  replied  the  woman. 
She  herself  had  a  haunting  dread  of  recognition  as 
Molly  Maxwell.  She  had  crossed  and  recrossed  the 
Atlantic,  carefully  covering  her  tracks,  and  she  did  not 
intend  to  be  cornered  at  last. 

After  dinner,  Hugh,  still  greatly  perturbed  at  the  mys- 
terious telephone  call,  played  billiards  with  Louise. 
About  a  quarter  to  eleven,  however,  Mrs.  Bond  was 
called  to  the  telephone  and,  closing  the  door,  listened 
to  an  urgent  message. 

It  was  from  Benton,  who  spoke  from  London — a  few 
quick,    cryptic,    but    reassuring    words — and    when    the 


234    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

woman  left  the  room  three  minutes  later  all  her  anxiety 
as  to  the  police  had  apparently  passed. 

She  joined  the  young  couple  and  watched  their  game. 
Louise  handled  her  cue  well,  and  very  nearly  beat  her 
opponent.  Afterwards,  when  Louise  went  out,  Mrs. 
Bond  closed  the  door  swiftly,  and  said: 

"I've  been  thinking  over  that  little  matter,  Mr.  Hen- 
frey.  I  really  don't  think  there  is  much  cause  for  alarm. 
Charles  will  be  back  to-morrow,  and  we  can  consult  him." 

Hugh  shrugged  his  shoulders.    He  was  much  puzzled. 

"The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Bond,  I'm  tired  of  being  hunted  like 
this !"  he  said.  "This  eternal  fear  of  arrest  has  got  upon 
my  nerves  to  such  an  extent  that  I  feel  if  they  want 
to  bring  me  for  trial — well,  they  can.  I'm  innocent — 
therefore,  how  can  they  prove  me  guilty?" 

"Oh !  you  mustn't  let  it  obser-3  you,"  the  woman  urged. 
"Mr.  Benton  has  told  me  all  about  the  unfortunate  affair, 
and  I  greatly  sympathize  with  you.  Of  course,  to  court 
the  publicity  of  a  trial  would  be  fatal.  What  would 
your  poor  father  think,  I  wonder,  if  he  were  still  alive?" 

"He's  dead,"  said  the  young  man  in  a  low,  hoarse 
voice ;  "but  Mademoiselle  Ferad  knows  the  secret  of  his 
death." 

"He  died  suddenly — did  he  not?" 

"Yes.  He  was  murdered,  Mrs.  Bond.  I'm  certain 
of  it.     My  father  was  murdered !" 

"Murdered?"  she  echoed.  "What  did  the  doctors 
say?" 

"They  arrived  at  no  definite  conclusion,"  was  Hugh's 
response.  "He  left  home  and  went  up  to  London  on 
some  secret  and  mysterious  errand.  Later,  he  was  found 
lying  upon  the  pavement  in  a  dying  condition.  He 
never  recovered   consciousness,   but   sank  a    few   hours 


THE  MAN  WHO  KNEW  235 

afterwards.    His  death  is  one  of  the  many  unsolved  mys- 
teries of  London." 

"The  police  believe  that  you  went  to  the  Villa  Amette 
and  murdered  Mademoiselle  out  of  revenge." 

"Let  them  prove  it!"  said  the  young  fellow  defiantly. 
"Let  them  prove  it !" 

"Prove  what  ?"  asked  Louise,  as  she  suddenly  reopened 
the  door,  greatly  to  the  woman's  consternation. 

"Oh!  Only  somebody — that  Spicer  woman  over  at 
Godalming — has  been  saying  some  wicked  and  nasty 
things  about  Mr.  Henfrey,"  replied  Mrs.  Bond.  "Per- 
sonally, I  should  be  annoyed.  Really  these  gossiping 
people  are  simply  intolerable." 

"What  have  they  been  saying,  Hugh?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Oh,  it's  really  nothing,"  laughed  Henfrey.  "I  apolo- 
gize. I  was  put  out  a  moment  ago,  but  I  now  see  the 
absurdity  of  it.     Forgive  me,  Louise." 

The  girl  looked  from  Mrs.  Bond  to  her  guest  in 
amazement. 

"What  is  there  to  forgive?"  she  asked. 

"The  fact  that  I  was  in  the  very  act  of  losing  my 
temper.    That's  all." 

Presently,  when  Louise  was  ascending  the  stairs  with 
Mrs.  Bond,  the  girl  asked: 

"Why  was  Hugh  so  put  out?  What  has  Mrs.  Spicer 
been  saying  about  him?" 

"Only  that  he  was  a  shirker  during  the  war.  And, 
naturally,  he  is  highly  indignant." 

"Pie  has  a  right  to  be.  He  did  splendidly.  His  record 
shows  that,"  declared  the  girl. 

"I  urged  him  to  take  no  notice  of  the  insults.  The 
Spicer  woman  has  a  very  venomous  tongue,  my  dear! 
She  is  a  vicar's  widow !" 


236    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

And  then  they  separated  to  their  respective  rooms. 

Half  an  hour  later  Hugh  Henfrey  retired,  but  he  found 
sleep  impossible ;  so  he  got  up  and  sat  at  the  open  window, 
gazing  across  to  the  dim  outlines  of  the  Surrey  hills, 
picturesque  and  undulating  beneath  the  stars. 

Who  could  have  called  him  on  the  telephone?  It  was 
a  woman,  but  the  voice  might  have  been  that  of  a  female 
telephone  operator.  Or  yet — it  might  have  been  that  of 
Dorise !  She  knew  that  he  was  at  Shapley  and  looked  it 
up  in  the  telephone  directory.  If  that  were  the  explana- 
tion, then  she  certainly  would  not  give  away  the  secret 
of  his  hiding-place. 

Still  he  was  haunted  by  a  great  dread  the  whole  of 
that  night.  The  Sparrow  had  told  him  he  had  acted 
foolishly  in  leaving  his  place  of  concealment  in  Ken- 
sington. The  Sparrow  was  his  firm  friend,  and  in  future 
he  intended  to  obey  the  little  old  man's  orders  implicitly 
— as  so  many  others  did. 

Next  morning  he  came  down  to  breakfast  before  the 
ladies,  and  beside  his  plate  he  found  a  letter — addressed 
to  him  openly.  He  had  not  received  one  addressed  in  his 
real  name  for  many  months.  Sight  of  it  caused  his 
heart  to  bound  in  anxiety,  but  when  he  read  it  he  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot. 

Those  lines  which  he  read  staggered  him;  the  room 
seemed  to  revolve,  and  he  re-read  them,  scarce  believ- 
ing his  own  eyes. 

He  realized  in  that  instant  that  a  great  blow  had 
fallen  upon  him,  and  that  all  was  now  hopeless.  The 
sunshine  of  his  life  had,  in  that  single  instant,  been 
blotted  out! 


TWENTY-FIRST  CHAPTER 

THE    MAN    WITH    MANY    NAMES 

At  the  moment  he  had  read  the  letter  Mrs.  Bond  en- 
tered the  room. 

"Hallo!  You're  down  early,"  she  remarked.  "And 
already  had  your  letters,  I  see !  They  don't  generally 
come  so  early.  The  postman  has  to  walk  over  from  Put- 
tenham." 

Then  she  took  up  her  own  and  carelessly  placed  them 
aside.  They  consisted  mostly  of  circulars  and  the  ac- 
counts of  Guildford  tradesmen. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  was  down  early.  Lately  I've  ac- 
quired the  habit  of  early  rising." 

"An  excellent  habit  in  a  young  man,"  she  laughed. 
"All  men  who  achieve  success  are  early  risers — so  a 
Cabinet  Minister  said  the  other  day.  And  really,  I  be- 
lieve it." 

"An  hour  in  the  early  morning  is  worth  three  after 
dinner.  That  is  why  Cabinet  Ministers  entertain  people 
at  breakfast  nowadays  instead  of  at  dinner.  In  the  morn- 
ing the  brain  is  fresh  and  active — a  fact  recently  dis- 
covered in  our  post-war  days,"  Hugh  said. 

Then,  as  his  hostess  turned  to  the  hot-plate  upon  the 
sideboard,  lifting  the  covers  to  see  what  her  cook  had 
provided,  he  re-scanned  the  letter  which  had  been  openly 
addressed  to  him.     It  was  from  Dorise : 

"I  refuse  to  be  deceived  any  longer,"  she  wrote ;  "I 
have  discovered  that  you  are  now  a  fellow-guest  with 

237. 


238    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

the  girl  Louise,  to  whom  you  introduced  me.     And  yet 
you  arranged  to  meet  me  at  Farnham,  believing  that  I 
was  not  aware  ot  your  close  f riendshp  with  her !    I  have 
believed  in  you  up  to  the  present,  but  the  scales  have 
now  fallen  from  my  eyes.     I  thought  you  loved  me  too 
well  to  deceive  me — as  you  are  doing.     Hard  things  are 
being  said  about  you — but  you  can  rest  content  that  I 
shall  reveal  nothing  that  I  happen  to  know.    What  I  do 
know,   however,   has  changed  my  thoughts   concerning 
you.     I  believed  you  to  be  the  victim  of  circumstance. 
Now  I  know  you  have  deceived  me,  and  that  I,  myself, 
am  the  victim.     I  need  only  add  that  someone  else — 
whom  I  know  not — knows  of  your  hiding-place,  for,  by 
a  roundabout  way,  I  heard  of  it,  and  hence,  I  address  this 
letter  to  you. — Dorise." 

Hugh  Henfrey  stood  staggered.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking the  meaning  of  that  letter  now  that  he  had  read  it 
a  second  time. 

Dorise  doubted  him !  And  what  answer  could  he  give 
her?    Any  explanation  must,  to  her,  be  but  a  lame  excuse. 

Hugh  ate  his  breakfast  sullenly.  To  Louise,  who  put 
in  a  late  appearance,  and  helped  herself  off  the  hot-plate, 
he  said  cheerfully : 

"How  lazy  you  are !" 

"It's  not  laziness,  Hugh,,;  replied  the  girl.  "The  maid 
was  so  late  with  my  tea — and — well,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  upset  a  whole  new  box  of  powder  on  my  dressing-table 
and  had  to  clean  up  the  mess." 

"More  haste — less  speed."  laughed  Hugh.  "It  is  al- 
ways the  same  in  the  morning — eh?" 

When  the  girl  sat  down  at  the  table  Hugh  had  bright- 
ened up.  Still  the  load  upon  his  shoulders  was  a  heavy 
fcne.    He  was  ever  obsessed  by  the  mystery  of  his  father's 


THE  MAN  WITH  MANY  NAMES         239 

death,  combined  with  that  extraordinary  will  by  which 
it  was  decreed  that  if  he  married  Louise  he  would  ac- 
quire his  father's  fortune. 

Louise  was  certainly  very  good-looking,  and  quite 
charming.  He  admitted  that  as  he  gazed  across  at  her 
fresh  figure  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table.  He,  of 
course,  was  in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  Benton,  who 
had  adopted  her,  was  a  clever  and  unscrupulous  adven- 
turer, whose  accomplice  was  the  handsome  woman  who 
was  his  hostess. 

Naturally,  he  never  dreamed  that  that  quiet  and  re- 
spectable house,  high  on  the  beautiful  Surrey  hills,  was 
the  abode  of  a  woman  for  whom  the  police  of  Europe 
were  everywhere  searching. 

His  thoughts  all  through  breakfast  were  of  The  Spar- 
row— the  great  criminal,  who  was  his  friend.  Hence, 
after  they  rose,  he  strolled  into  the  morning-room  with 
his  hostess,  and  said : 

"I'll  have  to  go  to  town  again  this  morning.  I  have 
an  urgent  letter.    Can  Mead  take  me  ?" 

"Certainly,"  was  the  woman's  reply.  "I  have  to  make 
a  call  at  Worplesdon  this  afternoon,  and  Louise  is  going 
with  me.  But  Mead  can  be  back  before  then  to  take 
us." 

So  half  an  hour  later  Hugh  was  driving  up  the  steep 
High  Street  of  Guildford  on  his  way  to  London. 

He  alighted  in  Piccadilly,  at  the  end  of  Half  Moon 
Street,  soon  after  eleven,  and,  dismissing  Mead,  made  his 
way  to  Ellerston  Street  to  the  house  of  Mr.  George 
Peters. 

He  rang  the  bell  at  the  old-fashioned  mansion,  and  a 
few  moments  later  the  door  was  opened  by  the  man- 
servant he  had  previously  seen. 

In  an  instant  the  servant  recognized  the  visitor. 


240    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Mr.  Peters  will  not  be  in  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"" 
he  said.    "Would  you  care  to  wait,  sir?" 

"Yes,"  Hugh  replied.  "I  want  to  see  him  very 
urgently." 

"Will  you  come  in?  Mr.  Peters  has  left  instructions 
that  you  might  probably  call;  Mr.  Henfrey,  is  it  not?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Hugh.  The  man  seemed  to  possess  a 
memory  like  that  of  a  club  hall-porter. 

Young  Henfrey  was  ushered  into  a  small  but  cosy 
little  room,  which,  in  the  light  of  day,  he  saw  was  well- 
furnished  and  upholstered.  The  door  closed,  and  he 
waited. 

A  few  moments  after  he  distinctly  heard  a  man's  voice, 
which  he  at  once  recognized  as  that  of  The  Sparrow. 

The  servant  had  told  him  that  Mr.  Peters  was  absent, 
yet  he  recognized  his  voice — a  rather  high-pitched,  mu- 
sical one. 

"Mr.  Henfrey  is  waiting,"  he  heard  the  servant  say. 

"Right !  I  hope  you  told  him  I  was  out,"  The  Sparrow 
replied. 

Then  there  was  silence. 

Hugh  stood  there  very  much  puzzled.  The  room  was 
cosy  and  well-furnished,  but  the  light  was  somewhat  dim, 
while  the  atmosphere  was  decidedly  murky,  as  it  is  in 
any  house  in  Mayfair.  One  cannot  obtain  brightness 
and  light  in  a  West-End  house,  where  one's  vista  is 
bounded  by  bricks  and  mortar.  The  dukes  in  their  great 
town  mansions  are  no  better  off  for  light  and  air  than 
the  hard-working  and  worthy  wage-earners  of  Walworth, 
Deptford,  or  Peckham.  The  air  in  the  working-class 
districts  of  London  is  not  one  whit  worse  than  it  is  in 
Mayfair  or  in  Belgravia. 

Hugh  stood  before  an  old  coloured  print  representing 
the  hobby-horse  school — the  days  of  the  "bone-shakers" 


THE  MAN  WITH  MANY  NAMES         241 

ind  studied  it.  He  awaited  II  Passero  and  the  advice 
which  he  had  promised  to  give. 

His  ears  were  strained.  That  house  was  curiously 
quiet  and  forbidding.  The  White  Cavalier,  whom  he  had 
believed  to  be  the  notorious  Sparrow,  had  been  proved 
to  be  one  of  his  assistants.  He  had  now  met  the  real, 
elusive  adventurer,  who  controlled  half  the  criminal  ad- 
venturers in  Europe,  and  had  found  in  him  a  most  genial 
friend.  He  was  there  to  seek  his  advice  and  to  act  upon 
it. 

As  he  reflected,  he  realized  that  without  the  aid  of 
The  Sparrow  he  would  have  long  ago  been  in  the  hands 
of  the  police.  So  widespread  was  the  organization  which 
The  Sparrow  controlled  that  it  mattered  not  in  what 
capital  he  might  be,  the  paternal  hand  of  protection  was 
placed  upon  him — in  Genoa,  in  Brussels,  in  London — 1 
anywhere. 

It  seemed  that  when  The  Sparrow  protected  any  crim- 
inal the  fugitive  was  safe.  He  had  been  sent  to  Mrs. 
Mason  in  Kensington,  and  he  had  left  her  roof  against 
The  Sparrow's  will. 

Hence  his  peril  of  arrest.  It  was  that  point  which  he 
wished  to  discuss  with  the  great  arch-criminal  of  Europe. 

That  house  was  one  of  mystery.  The  servant  had 
told  him  that  he  was  expected.  Why?  What  did  The 
Sparrow  suspect  ? 

The  whole  atmosphere  of  that  old-fashioned  place  was 
mysterious  and  apprehensive.  And  yet  its  owner  had  suc- 
ceeded in  extricating  him  from  that  very  perilous  position 
at  Monte  Carlo ! 

Suddenly,  as  he  stood  there,  he  heard  voices  again. 
They  were  raised  in  discussion. 

One  voice  he  recognized  as  that  of  The  SparroW. 

"Well,  I  tell  you  my  view  is  still  the  same,"  he  ex- 


242    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

claimed.  "What  you  have  told  me  does  not  alter  it,  how- 
ever much  you  may  ridicule  me !" 

"Then  you  know  the  truth — eh?" 

"I  really  didn't  say  so,  my  dear  Howell.  But  I  have 
my  suspicions — strong  suspicions." 

"Which  you  will,  in  due  course,  impart  to  young  Hen- 
frey,  I  suppose?" 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  was  The  Sparrow's 
reply.  "The  lad  is  in  serious  peril.  I  happen  to  know 
that." 

"Then  why  don't  you  warn  him  at  once  ?" 

"That's  my  affair!"  snapped  the  gentleman  known  in 
Mayfair  as  Mr.  Peters. 

"If  Henfrey  is  here,  then  I'd  like  to  meet  him,"  Howell 
said. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  pair  were  in  a  room  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  passage,  and  yet,  though  Hugh  stood 
at  some  distance  away,  he  could  hear  the  words  quite  dis- 
tinctly. At  this  he  was  much  surprised.  He  did  not, 
however,  know  that  in  that  house  in  Ellerston  Street 
there  had  been  constructed  a  curious  system  of  ventila- 
tion of  the  rooms  by  which  a  conversation  taking  place 
in  a  distant  apartment  could  be  heard  in  certain  other 
rooms. 

The  fact  was  that  The  Sparrow  received  a  good  many 
queer  visitors,  and  some  of  their  whispered  conversa- 
tions while  they  awaited  him  were  often  full  of  interest. 

The  house  was,  in  more  than  one  way,  a  curiosity.  It 
had  a  secret  exit  through  a  mews  at  the  rear — now  con- 
verted into  a  garage — and  several  other  mysterious  con- 
trivances which  were  unsuspected  by  visitors. 

"It  would  hardly  do  for  him  to  know  what  we  know, 
Mr.  Peters— eh?"  Hugh  heard  Howell  say  a  moment 
later.     It  was  the  habit  of  The  Sparrow's  accomplices 


THE  MAN  WITH  MANY  NAMES  243 

to  address  their  great  director — the  brain  of  criminal 
Europe — by  the  name  under  which  they  inquired  for  him. 
The  Sparrow  had  twenty  names — one  for  every  city  in 
which  he  had  a  cosy  pied-a-terre.  In  Paris,  Lisbon, 
Madrid,  Marseilles,  Vienna,  Hamburg,  Budapest,  Stock- 
holm and  on  the  Riviera,  he  was,  in  all  the  cities,  known 
by  a  different  name.  Yet  each  was  so  distinct,  and  each 
individuality  so  well  kept  up,  that  he  snapped  his  fingers 
at  the  police  and  pitied  them  their  red  tape,  ignorance, 
and  lack  of  initiative. 

Truly,  II  Passero,  the  cosmopolitan  of  many  names 
and  half  a  dozen  nationalities,  had  brought  criminality 
to  a  fine  art. 

Hugh,  standing  there  breathless,  listened  to  every  word. 
Who  was  this  man  Howell? 

"Hush !"  cried  The  Sparrow  suddenly.  "What  a  fool 
I  am !  I  quite  forgot  to  close  the  ventilator  in  the  room 
to  which  the  young  fellow  has  been  shown !  I  hope  he 
hasn't  overheard !  I  had  Evans  and  Janson  in  there  an 
hour  ago,  and  they  were  discussing  me,  as  I  expected 
they  would !  It  was  a  good  job  that  I  took  the  precau- 
tion of  opening  the  ventilator,  because  I  learned  a  good 
deal  that  I  had  never  suspected.  It  has  placed  me  on 
my  guard.  I'll  go  and  get  young  Henfrey.  But,"  he 
added,  "be  extremely  careful.  Disclose  nothing  you 
know  concerning  the  affair." 

"I  shall  be  discreet,  never  fear,"  replied  his  visitor. 

A  moment  later  The  Sparrow  entered  the  room  where 
Henfrey  was,  and  greeted  him  warmly.  Then  he  ushered 
him  down  the  passage  to  the  room  wherein  stood  his 
mysterious  visitor. 

The  room  was  such  a  distance  away  that  Hugh  was 
surprised  that  he  could  have  heard  so  distinctly.  But, 
after  all,  it  was  an  uncanny  experience  to  be  associated 


244    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"with  that  man  of  mystery,  whose  very  name  was  uttered 
by  his  accomplices  with  bated  breath. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  George  Howell,"  said  The  Sparrow, 
introducing  the  slim,  wiry-looking,  middle-aged  man, 
who  was  alert  and  clean-shaven,  and  plainly  but  well 
dressed — a  man  whom  the  casual  acquaintance  would 
take  to  be  a  solicitor  with  a  fair  practice.  He  bore  the 
stamp  of  suburbia  all  over  him,  and  his  accent  was 
peculiarly  that  of  London. 

His  bearing  was  that  of  high  respectability.  The  dia- 
mond scarf-pin  was  his  only  ornament — a  fine  one,  which 
sparkled  even  in  that  dull  London  light.  He  was  a 
square-shouldered  man,  with  peculiarly  shrewd,  rather 
narrow  eyes,  and  dark,  bushy  eyebrows. 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Henfrey,"  he  replied,  with  a 
gay,  rather  nonchalant  air.  "My  friend  Mr.  Peters  has 
been  speaking  about  you.  Had  a  rather  anxious  time,  I 
hear." 

Henfrey  looked  at  the  stranger  inquisitively,  and  then 
glanced  at  The  Sparrow. 

"Mr.  Howell  is  quite  safe,"  declared  the  man  with  the 
gloved  hand.  "He  is  one  of  Us.  So  you  may  speak 
without  fear." 

"Well,"  replied  the  young  man,  "the  fact  is,  I've  had 
a  very  apprehensive  time.  I'm  here  to  seek  Mr.  Peters' 
kind  advice,  for  without  him  I'm  sure  I'd  have  been 
arrested  and  perhaps  convicted  long  ago." 

"Oh  !  A  bit  of  bad  luck — eh?  Nearly  found  out,  have 
you  been?  Ah!  All  of  us,  have  our  narrow  escapes. 
I've  had  many  in  my  time,"  and  he  grinned. 

"So  have  all  of  us,"  laughed  the  bristly-haired  man. 
"But  tell  me,  Henfrey,  why  have  you  come  to  see  me 
so  quickly?" 


THE  MAN  WITH  MANY  NAMES         245 

"Because  they  know  where  I'm  in  hiding  !" 

"They  know  ?    Who  knows  ?" 

"Miss  Ranscomb  knows  my  whereabouts  and  has 
written  to  me  in  my  real  name  and  addressed  the  letter 
to  Shapley." 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  he  asked.    "I  told  her." 

"She  tells  me  that  my  present  hiding-place  is  known !" 

"Not  known  to  the  police?  Impossible!"  gasped  the 
black-gloved  man. 

"I  take  it  that  such  is  a  fact." 

"Why,  Molly  is  there!"  cried  the  man  Howell.  "If 
the  police  suspect  that  Henfrey  is  at  Shapley,  then 
they'll  visit  the  place  and  have  a  decided  haul." 

"Why?"  asked  Hugh  in  ignorance. 

"Nothing.  I  never  discuss  other  people's  private  af- 
fairs, Mr.  Henfrey,"  Howell  answered  very  quietly. 

Hugh  was  surprised  at  the  familiar  mention  of 
"Molly,"  and  the  declaration  that  if  the  Manor  were 
searched  the  police  would  have  "a  decided  haul." 

"This  is  very  interesting,"  declared  The  Sparrow. 
"What  did  Miss  Ranscomb  say  in  her  letter?" 

For  ?.  second  Hugh  hesitated ;  then,  drawing  it  from 
his  pocket,  he  gave  it  to  the  gloved  man  to  read. 

Hugh  knew  that  The  Sparrow  was  withholding  certain 
truths  from  him,  yet  had  he  not  already  proved  himself 
his  best  and  only  friend?  Brock  was  a  good  friend,  but 
unable  to  assist  him. 

The  Sparrow's  strongly  marked  face  changed  as  he 
read  Dorise's  angry  letter. 

"H'm !"  he  grunted.  "I  will  see  her.  We  must  dis- 
cover why  she  has  sent  you  this  warning.  Come  back 
again  this  evening.  But  be  very  careful  where  you  go 
in  the  meantime." 


246    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Thus  dismissed,  Hugh  walked  along  Ellerston  Street 
into  Curzon  Street  towards  Piccadilly,  not  knowing 
where  to  go  to  spend  the  intervening  hours. 

The  instant  he  had  gone,  however,  The  Sparrow  turned 
to  his  companion,  who  said : 

"I  wonder  if  Lisette  has  revealed  anything?" 

"By  Jove!"  remarked  The  Sparrow,  for  once  sud- 
denly perturbed.    "I  never  thought  of  that!" 


TWENTY-SECOND  CHAPTER 

CLOSING   THE    NET 

"Well — recollect  how  much  the  girl  knows !"  Howell 
remarked  as  he  stood  before  The  Sparrow  in  the  latter's 
room. 

"I  have  not  forgotten,"  said  the  other.  "The  whole 
circumstances  of  old  Henfrey's  death  are  not  known 
to  me.  That  it  was  an  unfortunate  affair  has  long  ago 
been  proved." 

"Yvonne  was  the  culprit,  of  course,"  said  Howell. 
"That  was  apparent  from  the  first." 

"I  suppose  she  was,"  remarked  The  Sparrow  reflec- 
tively.   "  But  that  attempt  upon  her  life  puzzles  me." 

"Who  could  have  greater  motive  in  killing  her  out 
of  revenge  than  the  dead  man's  son?" 

"Agreed.  But  I  am  convinced  that  the  lad  is  innocent. 
Therefore  I  gave  him  our  protection." 

"I  was  travelling  abroad  at  the  time,  you  recollect. 
When  I  learnt  of  the  affair  through  Franklyn  about  a 
week  afterwards  I  was  amazed.  The  loss  of  Yvonne  to 
us  is  a  serious  one." 

"Very — I  agree.  She  has  done  some  excellent  work — 
the  affair  in  the  Rue  Royale,  for  instance." 

"And  the  clever  ruse  by  which  she  got  those  emeralds 
of  the  Roumanian  princess.  The  Vienna  police  are  still 
searching  for  her — after  three  years,"  laughed  the  com- 
panion of  the  chief  of  the  international  organization, 
whose  word  was  law  in  the  criminal  underworld  of 
Europe. 

"Knowing  what  you  did  regarding  the  knowledge  of 

247 


248    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

old  Mr.  Henfrey's  death  possessed  by  Lisette,  I  have 
been  surprised  that  you  placed  her  beneath  your  pro- 
tection." 

"If  she  had  been  arrested  she  might  have  told  some 
very  unpleasant  truths,  in  order  to  save  herself,"  The 
Sparrow  remarked,  "so  I  chose  the  latter  evil." 

"Young  Henfrey  met  her.  I  wonder  whether  she 
told  him  anything?" 

"No.  I  questioned  her.  She  was  discreet,  it  seems. 
Or  at  least,  she  declares  that  she  was." 

"That's  a  good  feature.  But,  speaking  frankly,  have 
you  any  idea  of  the  identity  of  the  person — man  or 
woman — who  attempted  to  kill  Yvonne?"  asked  Howell. 

"I  have  a  suspicion — a  pretty  shrewd  suspicion,"  re- 
plied the  little  bristly-haired  man. 

His  companion  was   silent. 

"And  you  don't  offer  to  confide  in  me  your  suspicions 
—eh?" 

"It  is  wiser  to  obtain  proof  before  making  any  allega- 
tions," answered  The  Sparrow,  smiling. 

"You  will  still  protect  Lisette?"  Howell  asked.  "I 
agree  that,  like  Yvonne,  she  has  been  of  great  use  to  us 
in  many  ways.  Beauty  and  wit  are  always  assets  in 
our  rather  ticklish  branch  of  commerce.  Where  is 
Lisette  now?" 

"At  the  moment,  she's  in  Madrid,"  The  Sparrow  re- 
plied. "There  is  a  little  affair  there — the  jewels  of  a 
Belgian's  wife — a  fellow  who,  successfully  posing  as  a 
German  during  the  occupation  of  Brussels,  made  a  big 
fortune  by  profiteering  in  leather.  They  are  in  Madrid 
for  six  months,  in  order  to  escape  unwelcome  inquiries 
by  the  Government  in  Brussels.  They  have  a  villa  just 
outside  the  city,  and  I  have  sent  Lisette  there  with  cer- 
tain instructions." 


CLOSING  THE  NET  249 

"Who  is  with  her?" 

"Nobody  yet.     Franklyn  will  go  in  due  course." 

Howell's  thin  lips  relaxed  into  a  curious  smile. 

"Franklyn  is  in  love  with  Lisette,"  he  remarked. 

"That  is  why  I  am  sending  them  together  to  execute 
the  little  mission,"  The  Sparrow  said.  "Lisette  was 
here  a  fortnight  ago,  and  I  mapped  out  for  her  a  plan. 
I  went  myself  to  Madrid  not  long  ago,  in  order  to  survey 
the  situation." 

"The  game  is  worth  the  candle,  I  suppose — eh?" 

"Yes.  If  we  get  the  lot  Van  Groot,  in  Amsterdam, 
will  give  at  least  fifteen  thousand  for  them.  Moulaert 
bought  most  of  them  from  old  Leplae  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix.  There  are  some  beautiful  rubies  among  them.  I 
saw  Madame  wearing  some  of  the  jewels  at  the  Palace 
Hotel,  in  Madrid,  while  they  were  staying  there  before 
their  villa  was  ready.  Moulaert,  with  his  wife  and 
two  friends  from  the  Belgian  Legation,  dined  at  a  table 
next  to  mine,  little  dreaming  with  what  purpose  I  ate 
my  meal  alone." 

Truly,  the  intuition  and  cleverness  of  The  Sparrow 
were  wonderful.  He  never  moved  without  fully  con- 
sidering every  phase  of  the  consequences.  Unlike  most 
adventurers,  he  drank  hardly  anything.  Half  a  glass 
of  dry  sherry  at  eleven  in  the  morning,  the  same  at 
luncheon,  and  one  glass  of  claret  for  his  dinner. 

Yet  often  at  restaurants  he  would  order  champagne, 
choice  vintage  clarets,  and  liqueurs — when  occasion  de- 
manded. He  would  offer  them  to  his  friends,  but  just 
sip  them  himself,  having  previously  arranged  with  the 
waiter  to  miss  filling  his  glass. 

Of  the  peril  of  drink  "Mr.  Peters"  was  constantly 
lecturing  the  great  circle  of  his  friends. 

Each  year — on  the  26th  of  February  to  be  exact — 


250    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

there  was  held  a  dinner  at  a  well-known  restaurant  in 
the  West  End — the  annual  dinner  of  a  club  known  as 
"The  Wonder  Wizards."  It  was  supposed  to  be  a 
circle  of  professional  conjurers. 

This  dinner  was  usually  attended  by  fifty  guests  of 
both  sexes,  all  well-dressed  and  prosperous,  and  of  sev- 
eral nationalities.  It  was  presided  over  by  a  Mr.  Charles 
Williams. 

Now,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  guests  believed  him  to  be 
The  Sparrow;  but  in  reality  Mr.  Williams  was  the  tall 
White  Cavalier  whom  Hugh  had  believed  to  be  the  great 
leader,  until  he  had  gone  to  Mayfair  and  met  the  im- 
pelling personality  whom  the  police  had  for  so  long 
failed  to  arrest. 

The  situation  was  indeed  humorous.  It  was  The  Spar- 
row's fancy  to  hold  the  reunion  at  a  public  restaurant 
instead  of  at  a  private  house.  Under  the  very  nose  of 
Scotland  Yard  the  deputy  of  the  notorious  Sparrow 
entertained  the  chiefs  of  the  great  criminal  octopus. 
There  were  speeches,  but  from  them  the  waiters  learned 
nothing.  It  was  simply  a  club  of  conjurers.  None  sus- 
pected that  the  guests  were  those  who  conjured  fortunes 
out  of  the  pockets  of  the  unsuspecting.  And  while  the 
chairman — believed  by  those  who  attended  to  be  The 
Sparrow  himself — sat  there,  the  bristly-haired,  rather 
insignificant-looking  little  man  occupied  a  seat  in  a  far- 
off  corner,  from  where  he  scrutinized  his  guests  very 
closely,  and  smiled  at  the  excellent  manner  in  which  his 
deputy  performed  the  duties  of  chairman. 

Because  it  was  a  club  of  conjurers,  and  because  the 
conjurers  displayed  their  new  tricks  and  illusions,  after 
an  excellent  dinner  the  waiters  were  excluded  and  the 
doors  locked  after  the  coffee. 

It  was  then  that  the  bogus  Sparrow  addressed  those 


CLOSING  THE  NET  251 

present,  and  gave  certain  instructions  which  were  later 
on  carried  into  every  corner  of  Europe.  Each  member 
had  his  speciality,  and  each  group  its  district  and  its 
sanctuary,  in  case  of  a  hue-and-cry.  Every  crime  that 
could  be  committed  was  committed  by  them — every- 
thing save  murder. 

The  tall,  thin  man  whom  everyone  believed  to  be 
The  Sparrow  never  failed  to  impress  upon  his  hearers, 
after  the  doors  were  carefully  locked,  that  however 
they  might  attack  and  rob  the  rich,  human  life  was 
sacred. 

It  was  the  real  Sparrow's  order.  He  abominated  the 
thought  of  taking  human  life,  hence  when  old  Mr.  Hen- 
f rey  had  been  foully  done  to  death  in  the  West  End  he 
had  at  once  set  to  work  to  discover  the  actual  criminal. 
This  he  had  failed  to  do.  And  afterwards  there  had 
followed  the  attempted  assassination  of  Yvonne  Ferad, 
known  as  Mademoiselle  of   Monte  Carlo. 

The  two  men  stood  discussing  the  young  French  girl, 
Lisette,  whom  Hugh  had  met  when  in  hiding  in  the 
Via  della  Maddalena  in  Genoa. 

"I  only  hope  that  she  has  not  told  young  Henfrey 
anything,"  Howell  said,  with  distinct  apprehension. 

"No,"  laughed  The  Sparrow.  "She  came  to  me  and 
told  me  how  she  had  met  him  in  Genoa  and  discovered 
to  her  amazement  that  he  was  old  Henfrey's  son." 

"How  curious  that  the  pair  should  meet  by  accident," 
remarked  Howell.  "I  tell  you  that  Benton  is  not  playing 
the  straight  game.  That  iniquitous  will  which  the  old 
man  left  he  surely  must  have  signed  under  some  mis- 
apprehension. Perhaps  he  thought  he  was  applying  for 
a  life  policy — or  something  of  that  sort.  Signatures  to 
wills  have  been  procured  under  many  pretexts  by  scoun* 
drelly  relatives  and  unscrupulous  lawyers." 


252    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 


"i 


I  know.  And  the  witnesses  have  placed  their  signa- 
tures afterwards,"  remarked  The  Sparrow  thoughtfully. 
"But  in  this  case  all  seems  above  board — at  least  so 
far  as  the  will  is  concerned.  Benton  was  old  Henfrey's 
bosom  friend.  Henfrey  was  very  taken  with  Louise, 
and  I  know  that  he  was  desirous  Hugh  should  marry 
her." 

"And  if  he  did,  Hugh  would  acquire  the  old  man's 
fortune,  and  Benton  would  step  in  and  seize  it — as  is 
his  intention." 

"Undoubtedly.  All  we  can  do  is  to  keep  Hugh  and 
Louise  apart.  The  latter  is  in  entire  ignorance  of  the 
true  profession  of  her  adopted  father,  and  she'd  be 
horrified  if  she  knew  that  Molly  was  simply  a  clever 
adventuress,  who  is  very  much  wanted  in  Paris  and  in 
Brussels,"  said  the  gloved  man. 

"A  good  job  that  she  knows  nothing,"  said  Howell. 
"But  it  would  be  a  revelation  to  her  if  the  police  de- 
scended upon  Shapley  Manor — wouldn't  it?" 

"Yes.  That  is  why  I  must  see  Dorise  Ranscomb 
and  ascertain  from  her  exactly  what  she  has  heard.  I 
know  the  police  tracked  Hugh  to  London,  and  for  that 
reason  he  went  with  Benton  down  into  Surrey — out  of 
the  frying-pan  into  the  fire." 

"Well,  before  we  can  go  farther,  it  seems  that  we 
should  ascertain  who  shot  Yvonne,"  Howell  suggested. 
"It  was  a  most  dastardly  thing,  and  whoever  did  it 
ought  to  be  punished." 

"He  ought.  But  I'm  as  much  in  the  dark  as  you  are, 
Howell ;  but,  as  I  have  already  said,  I  entertain  strong 
suspicions." 

"I'll  suggest  one  name — Benton?" 

The  Sparrow  shook  his  head. 


CLOSING  THE  NET  253 

"The  manservant,  Giulio  Cataldi?"  Howell  ventured. 
"I  never  liked  that  sly  old  Italian." 

"What  motive  could  the  old  fellow  have  had?" 

"Robbery,  probably.  We  have  no  idea  what  were 
Yvonne's  winnings  that  night — or  of  the  money  she 
had  in  her  bag." 

"Yes,  we  do  know,"  was  The  Sparrow's  reply.  "Ac- 
cording to  the  police  report,  Yvonne,  on  her  return  home, 
went  to  her  room,  carrying  her  bag,  which  she  placed 
upon  her  dressing-table.  Then,  after  removing  her  cloak 
and  hat,  she  went  downstairs  again  and  out  on  to  the 
veranda.  A  few  minutes  later  the  young  man  was  an- 
nounced. High  words  were  heard  by  old  Cataldi,  and 
then  a  shot." 

"And  Yvonne's  bag?" 

"It  was  found  where  she  had  left  it.  In  it  were 
three  thousand  eight  hundred  francs,  all  in  notes." 

"Yet  Franklyn  told  me  that  he  had  heard  how  Yvonne 
won  quite  a  large  sum  that  night." 

"She  might  have  done  so — and  have  lost  the  greater 
part  of  it,"  The  Sparrow  replied. 

"On  the  other  hand,  what  more  feasible  than  that  the 
old  manservant,  watching  her  place  it  there,  abstracted 
the  bulk  of  the  money — a  large  sum,  no  doubt — and 
afterwards,  in  order  to  conceal  his  crime,  shot  his  mis- 
tress in  such  circumstances  as  to  place  the  onus  of 
the  crime  upon  her  midnight  visitor?" 

"That  the  affair  was  very  cleverly  planned  there  is 
no  doubt,"  said  The  Sparrow.  "There  was  a  distinct 
intention  to  fasten  the  guilt  upon  young  Henfrey,  because 
he  alone  Mould  have  a  motive  for  revenge  for  the  death 
of  his  father.  Of  that  fact  the  man  or  woman  who 
fired  the  shot  was  most  certainly  aware.  How  could 
Cataldi  have  known  of  it?" 


254    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"I  certainly  believe  the  Italian  robbed  his  mistress 
and  afterwards  attempted  to  murder  her,"  Howell  in- 
sisted. 

"He  might  rob  his  mistress,  certainly.  He  might  even 
have  robbed  her  of  considerable  sums  systematically," 
The  Sparrow  assented.  "The  maids  told  the  police  that 
Mademoiselle's  habit  was  to  leave  her  bag  with  her 
winnings  upon  the  dressing-table  while  she  went  down- 
stairs and  took  a  glass  of  wine." 

"Exactly.  She  did  so  every  evening.  Her  habits 
were  regular.  Yet  she  never  knew  the  extent  of  her 
winnings  at  the  tables  before  she  counted  them.  And 
she  never  did  so  until  the  following  morning.  That  is 
what  Franklyn  told  me  in  Venice  when  we  met  a  month 
afterwards." 

"He  learnt  that  from  me,"  The  Sparrow  said  with 
a  smile.  "No,"  he  went  on;  "though  old  Cataldi  could 
well  have  robbed  his  mistress,  just  as  the  maids  could 
have  done,  and  Yvonne  would  have  been  none  the  wiser, 
yet  I  do  not  think  he  would  attempt  to  conceal  his 
crime  by  shooting  her,  because  by  so  doing  he  cut  off 
all  future  supplies.  If  he  were  a  thief  he  would  not  be 
such  a  fool.  Therefore  you  may  rest  assured,  Howell, 
that  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot  was  that  of  some  person 
who  desired  to  close  Yvonne's  mouth." 

"She  might  have  held  some  secret  concerning  old 
Cataldi.  Or,  on  his  part,  he  might  have  cherished  some 
grievance  against  her.  Italians  are  usually  very  vin- 
dictive," replied  the  visitor.  "On  the  other  hand,  it 
would  be  to  Benton's  advantage  that  the  truth  concern- 
ing old  Henfrey's  death  was  suppressed.  Yvonne  was 
about  to  tell  the  young  man  something — perhaps  con- 
fess the  truth,  who  knows? — when  the  shot  was  fired." 

"Well,  my  dear  Howell,  you  have  your  opinion  and  I 


CLOSING  THE  NET  255 

have  mine,"  laughed  The  Sparrow.  "The  latter  I  shall 
keep  to  myself — until  my  theory  is  disproved." 

Thereupon  Howell  took  a  cigar  that  his  host  offered 
him,  and  while  he  slowly  lit  it,  The  Sparrow  crossed  to 
the  telephone. 

He  quickly  found  Lady  Ranscomb's  number  in  the 
directory,  and  a  few  moments  later  was  talking  to  the 
butler,  of  whom  he  inquired  for  Miss  Dorise. 

"Tell  her,"  he  added,  "that  a  friend  of  Mr.  Henfrey's 
wishes  to  speak  to  her." 

In  a  few  moments  The  Sparrow  heard  the  girl's  voice. 

"Yes?"  she  inquired.     "Who  is  speaking?" 

"A  friend  of  Mr.  Henfrey,"  was  the  reply  of  the  man 
with  the  gloved  hand.  "You  will  probably  guess  who 
it  is. 

He  heard  a  little  nervous  laugh,  and  then : 

"Oh,  yes.  I — I  have  an  idea,  but  I  can't  talk  to  you 
over  the  'phone.     I've  got  somebody  who's  just  called. 

Mother  is  out — and "    Then  she  lowered  her  voice, 

evidently  not  desirous  of  being  heard  in  the  adjoining 
room.    "Well,  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"What  do  you  mean?    Does  it  concern  Mr.  Henfrey?" 

"Yes.  It  does.  There's  a  man  here  to  see  me  from 
Scotland  Yard  !     What  shall  I  do  ?" 

The  Sparrow  gasped  at  the  girl's  announcement. 

Next  second  he  recovered  himself. 

"A  man  from  Scotland  Yard !"  he  echoed.  "Why 
has  he  called?" 

"He  knows  that  Mr.  Henfrey  is  living  at  Shapley,  in 
Surrey.  And  he  has  been  asking  whether  I  am  ac- 
quainted with  you." 


TWENTY-THIRD  CHAPTER 

WHAT   LISETTE    KNEW 

A"  fortnight  had  gone  by. 

Ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  the  Puerta  del  Sol,  that 
great  plaza  in  Madrid — the  fine  square  which,  like  the 
similarly-named  gates  at  Toledo  and  Segovia,  commands 
a  view  of  the  rising  sun,  as  does  the  ancient  Temple  of 
Abu  Simbel  on  the  Nile. 

Hugh  Henfrey — a  smart,  lithe  figure  in  blue  serge — 
had  been  lounging  for  ten  minutes  before  the  long  f aqade 
of  the  Ministerio  de  la  Gobernacion  (or  Ministry  of 
the  Interior)  smoking  a  cigarette  and  looking  eagerly 
across  the  great  square.  The  two  soldiers  on  sentry  at 
the  door,  suspicious  of  all  foreigners  in  the  days  of 
Bolshevism  and  revolution,  had  eyed  him  narrowly. 
But  he  appeared  to  be  inoffensive,  so  they  had  passed 
him  by  as  a  harmless  lounger. 

Five  minutes  later  a  smartly-dressed  girl,  with  short 
skirt,  silk  stockings,  and  a  pretty  hat,  came  along  the 
pavement,  and  Hugh  sprang  forward  to  greet  her. 

It  was  Lisette,  the  girl  whom  he  had  met  when  in  hid- 
ing in  that  back  street  in  Genoa. 

"Well?"  he  exclaimed.  "So  here  we  are!  The 
Sparrow  sent  me  to  you." 

"Yes.  I  had  a  telegram  from  him  four  days  ago 
ordering  me  to  meet  you.  Strange  things  are  happen- 
ing— it  seems !" 

"How?"  asked  the  young  Englishman,  in  ignorance  of 
the  great  conspiracy  or  of  what  was  taking  place.    "Since 

256 


WHAT  LISETTE  KNEW  257 

I  saw  you  last,  mademoiselle,  I  have  been  moving  about 
rapidly,  and  always  in  danger  of  arrest." 

"So  have  I.  But  I  am  here  at  The  Sparrow's  orders 
— on  a  little  business  which  I  hope  to  bring  off  success- 
fully on  any  evening.  I  have  an  English  friend  with; 
me — a  Mr.  Franklyn." 

"I  left  London  suddenly.  I  saw  The  Sparrow  in  the 
evening,  and  next  morning,  at  eleven  o'clock,  without 
even  a  bag,  I  left  London  for  Madrid  with  a  very  useful 
passport." 

"You  are  here  because  Madrid  is  safer  for  you  than 
London,  I  suppose?"  said  the  girl  in  broken  English. 

"That  is  so.  A  certain  Mr.  Howell,  a  friend  of  The 
Sparrow's,  suggested  that  I  should  come  here,"  Hugh 
explained.  "Ever  since  we  met  in  Italy  I  have  been  in 
close  hiding  until,  by  some  means,  my  whereabouts  be- 
came known,  and  I  had  to  fly." 

The  smartly-dressed  girl  walked  slowly  at  his  side  and, 
for  some  moments,  remained  silent. 

"Ah !  So  you  have  met  Hamilton  Shaw — alias  Howell 
— eh  ?"  she  remarked  at  last  in  a  changed  voice.  "He 
certainly  is  not  your  friend." 

"Not  my  friend  !    Why  ?    I've  only  met  him  lately.'* 

"You  say  that  the  police  knew  of  your  hiding-place/' 
said  mademoiselle,  speaking  in  French,  as  it  was  easier 
for  her.  "Would  you  be  surprised  if  Howell  had  re-» 
vealed  your  secret — eh?" 

"Howell !"  gasped  Hugh.  "Yes,  I  certainly  would. 
He  is  a  close  friend  of  The  Sparrow  I" 

"That  may  be.  But  that  does  not  prove  that  he  13 
any  friend  of  yours.  If  you  came  here  at  Howell's  sug- 
gestion— then,  Mr.  Henfrey,  I  should  advise  you  to  leave 
Madrid  at  once.  I  say  this  because  I  have  a  suspicion 
that  he  intends  both  of  us  to  fall  into  a  trap !" 


258    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"But  why  ?    I  don't  understand." 

"I  can  give  you  no  explanation,"  said  the  girl.  "Now 
I  know  that  Hamilton  Shaw  sent  you  here,  I  can,  I  think, 
discern  his  motive.  I  myself  will  see  Mr.  Franklyn  at 
once,  and  shall  leave  Madrid  as  soon  as  possible.  And  I 
advise  you,  Mr.  Henfrey,  to  do  the  same." 

"Surely  you  don't  suspect  that  it  was  this  Mr.  Howell 
who  gave  me  away  to  Scotland  Yard !"  exclaimed  Hugh, 
surprised,  but  at  the  same  time  recollecting  that  The 
Sparrow  had  been  alarmed  at  the  detective's  visit  to 
Dorise.  He  knew  that  Benton  and  Mrs.  Bond  had  sud- 
denly disappeared  from  Shapley,  but  the  reason  he  could 
only  guess.  He  had,  of  course,  no  proof  that  Benton 
and  Molly  were  members  of  the  great  criminal  organiza- 
tion. He  only  knew  that  Benton  had  been  his  late  father's 
closest   friend. 

He  discussed  the  situation  with  the  girl  jewel-thief  as 
they  walked  along  the  busy  Carrera  de  San  Jeronimo, 
wherein  are  the  best  shops  in  Madrid,  to  the  great  Plaza 
de  Canovas  in  the  leafy  Prado. 

Again  he  tried  to  extract  from  her  what  she  knew  con- 
cerning his  father's  death.  But  she  would  tell  him  noth- 
ing. 

"I  am  not  permitted  to  say  anything,  Mr.  Henfrey. 
I  can  only  regret  it,"  she  said  quietly.  "Mr.  Franklyn 
is  at  the  Ritz  opposite.     I  should  like  you  to  meet  him." 

And  she  took  him  across  to  the  elegant  hotel  opposite 
the  Neptune  fountain,  where,  in  a  private  sitting-room 
on  the  second  floor,  she  introduced  him  to  a  rather  elderly, 
aristocratic-looking  Englishman,  whom  none  would  take 
to  be  one  of  the  most  expert  jewel-thieves  in  Europe. 

When  the  door  was  closed  and  they  were  alone, 
mademoiselle  suddenly  revealed  to  her  friend  what  Hugh 


WHAT  LISETTE  KNEW  259 

had  said  concerning  Howell's  suggestion  that  he  should 
travel  to  Madrid. 

Franklyn's  face  changed.  He  was  instantly  appre- 
hensive. 

"Then  we  certainly  are  not  safe  here  any  longer. 
Howell  probably  intends  to  play  us  false!  We  shall 
know  from  The  Sparrow  the  reason  we  are  here,  and, 
for  aught  we  know,  the  police  are  watching  and  will 
arrest  us  red-handed.  No,"  he  added,  "we  must  leave  this 
place — all  three  of  us — as  soon  as  possible.  You,  Lisette, 
had  better  go  to  Paris  and  explain  matters  to  The  Spar- 
row, while  I  shall  fade  away  to  Switzerland.  And  you, 
Mr.  Henfrey?    Where  will  you  go?" 

"To  France,"  was  Hugh's  reply,  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment.    "I  can  get  to  Marseilles." 

"Yes.  Go  by  way  of  Barcelona.  It  is  quickest,"  said 
the  Englishman.  "The  express  leaves  just  after  three 
o'clock." 

Then,  after  he  had  thanked  Hugh  for  his  timely  warn- 
ing, the  latter  walked  out  more  than  ever  mystified  at 
the  attitude  of  The  Sparrow's  accomplices. 

It  did  not  seem  possible  that  Howell  should  have 
told  Scotland  Yard  that  he  was  hiding  at  Shapley ;  yet 
it  was  quite  evident  that  both  mademoiselle  and  her 
companion  were  equally  in  fear  of  the  man  Howell,  whose 
real  name  was  Hamilton  Shaw.  The  theory  seemed  to 
him  a  thin  one,  for  Howell  was  The  Sparrow's  intimate 
friend. 

Yet  mademoiselle,  while  they  had  been  discussing  the 
situation,  had  denounced  him  as  their  enemy,  declaring 
that  The  Sparrow  himself  should  be  warned  of  him. 

That  afternoon  Hugh,  leaving  only  been  in  Madrid 
twelve   hours,    left   again   on   the    long,   dusty    railway 


260    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

journey  across  Spain  to  Zaragoza  and  down  the  valley 
of  the  Ebro  to  the  Mediterranean.  After  crossing  the 
French  frontier,  he  broke  the  journey  at  the  old-world 
town  of  Nimes  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  then  went  on 
to  Marseilles,  where  he  took  up  his  quarters  in  the  big 
Louvre  et  Paix  Hotel,  still  utterly  mystified,  and  still 
not  daring  to  write  to  Dorise. 

It  was  as  well  that  he  left  Madrid,  for,  just  as  Lisette 
and  Franklyn  had  suspected,  the  police  called  at  his 
hotel — an  obscure  one  near  the  station — only  two  hours 
after  his  departure.  Then,  finding  him  gone,  they  sought 
both  mademoiselle  and  Franklyn,  only  to  find  that  they 
also  had  fled. 

Someone  had  given  away  their  secret! 

On  arrival  at  Marseilles  in  the  evening  Hugh  ate  his 
<iinner  alone  in  the  hotel,  and  then  strolled  up  the  well-lit 
Cannebiere,  with  its  many  smart  shops  and  gay  cafes — 
that  street  which,  to  many  thousands  on  their  way  to  the 
Near  or  Far  East,  is  their  last  glimpse  of  European  life. 
He  was  entirely  at  a  loose  end. 

Unnoticed  behind  him  there  walked  an  undersized  little 
Frenchman,  an  alert,  business-like  man  of  about  fortv- 
ifive,  who  had  awaited  him  outside  his  hotel,  and  who 
leisurely  followed  him  up  the  broad,  main  street  of  that 
busy  city. 

He  was  well-dressed,  possessing  a  pair  of  shrewd, 
searching  eyes,  and  a  moustache  carefully  trimmed.  His 
appearance  was  that  of  a  prosperous  French  tradesman 
— one  of  thousands  one  meets  in  the  city  of  Marseilles. 

As  Hugh  idled  along,  gazing  into  some  of  the  shop 
windows  as  he  lazily  smoked  his  cigarette,  the  under- 
sized stranger  kept  very  careful  watch  upon  his  move- 
ments. He  evidently  intended  that  he  should  not  escape 
observation.    Hugh  paused  at  a  tobacconist's  and  bought 


WHAT  LISETTE  KNEW  26% 

some  stamps,  but  as  he  came  out  of  the  shop,  the  watcher 
drew  back  suddenly  and  in  such  a  manner  as  to  reveal 
to  anyone  who  might  have  observed  him  that  he  was 
no  tyro  in  the  art  of  surveillance. 

Walking  a  little  farther  along,  Hugh  came  to  the 
corner  of  the  broad  Rue  de  Rome,  where  he  entered  a 
crowded  cafe  in  which  an  orchestra  was  playing. 

He  had  taken  a  corner  seat  in  the  window,  had  ordered 
his  coffee,  and  was  glancing  at  the  Petit  Parisien,  which 
he  had  taken  from  his  pocket,  when  another  man  entered, 
gazed  around  in  search  of  a  seat  and,  noticing  one  at 
Hugh's  table,  crossed,  lifted  his  hat,  and  took  the  vacant 
chair. 

He  was  the  stranger  who  had  followed  him  from  the 
Louvre  et  Paix. 

The  young  Englishman,  all  unsuspecting,  glanced  at 
the  newcomer  and  then  resumed  his  paper,  while  the 
keen-eyed  little  man  took  a  long,  thin  cigar  which  the 
waiter  brought,  lit  it  carefully,  and  sipped  his  coffee,  his 
interest  apparently  centred  in  the  music. 

Suddenly  a  tall,  dark-haired  woman,  who  had  been 
sitting  near  by  with  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  her  hus- 
band, rose  and  left.  A  moment  before  she  had  exchanged 
glances  with  the  watcher,  who,  apparently  at  her  bidding, 
rose  and  followed  her. 

All  this  passed  quite  unnoticed  by  Hugh,  immersed 
as  he  was  in  his  newspaper. 

Outside  the  man  and  woman  met.  They  held  hur- 
ried consultation.  The  woman  told  him  something  which 
evidently  caused  him  sudden  surprise. 

"I  will  call  on  you  at  eleven  to-morrow  morning, 
madame,"  he  said. 

"No.  I  will  meet  you  at  the  Reserve.  I  will  luncri 
there  at  twelve.    You  will  lunch  with  me — eh?" 


262     MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Very  well,"  he  answered.  "Au  revoir,"  and  he  re- 
turned to  his  seat  in  the  cafe,  while  she  disappeared  with- 
out returning  to  her  companion. 

The  mysterious  watcher  resumed  his  coffee,  for  he 
had  only  been  absent  for  a  few  moments,  and  the  waiter 
had  not  cleared  it  away. 

Hugh  took  out  his  cigarette-case  and,  suddenly  find- 
ing himself  without  a  match,  made  the  opportunity  for 
which  the  mysterious  stranger  had  been  waiting. 

He  struck  one  and  handed  it  to  his  vis-a-vis,  bowing 
with  his  foreign  grace. 

Then  they  naturally  dropped  into  conversation. 
"'    "Ah !  m'sieur  is  English !"  exclaimed  the  shrewd-eyed 
little  man.     "Here,  in  Marseilles,  we  have  many  English 
who  pass  to  and  fro  from  the  boats.    I  suppose,  m'sieur 
is  going  East — eh  ?"  he  suggested  affably. 

"No,"  replied  Hugh,  speaking  in  French,  "I  have  some 
business  here — that  is  all."  He  was  highly  suspicious 
of  all  strangers,  and  the  more  so  of  anyone  who  en- 
deavoured to  get  into  conversation  with  him. 

"You  know  Marseilles — of  course?"  asked  the  stranger, 
sharply  scrutinizing  him. 

"I  have  been  here  several  times  before.  I  find  the 
city  always  gay  and  bright." 

"Not  so  bright  as  before  the  war,"  declared  the  little 
man,  smoking  at  his  ease.  "There  have  been  many 
changes  lately." 

Hugh  Henfrey  could  not  make  the  fellow  out.  Yet 
many  times  before  he  had  been  addressed  by  strangers 
who  seemed  to  question  him  out  of  curiosity,  and  for 
no  apparent  reason.  This  man  was  one  of  them,  no 
doubt. 

The  man,  who  had  accompanied  the  woman  whom  the 
stranger  had  followed  out,  rose,  exchanged  a  significant 


WHAT  LISETTE  KNEW  263 

glance  with  the  little  man,  and  walked  out.  That  the 
three  were  in  accord  seemed  quite  apparent,  though 
Hugh  was  still  unsuspicious. 

He  chatted  merrily  with  the  stranger  for  nearly  half 
an  hour,  and  then  rose  and  left  the  cafe.  When  quite 
close  to  the  hotel  the  stranger  overtook  him,  and  halt- 
ing, asked  in  a  low  voice,  in  very  good  English : 

"I  believe  you  are  Mr.  Henfrey — are  you  not?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  that?"  inquired  Hugh,  much  sur- 
prised.    "My  name  is  Jordan — William  Jordan." 

"Yes,"  laughed  the  man.  "That  is,  I  know,  the  name 
you  have  given  at  the  hotel.  But  your  real  name  is 
Henfrey." 

Hugh  started.  The  stranger,  noticing  his  alarm,  has- 
tened to  reassure  him. 


TWENTY-FOURTH  CHAPTER 

FRIEND  OR  ENEMY? 

"You  need  not  worry,"  said  the  stranger  to  Hugh. 
"I  am  not  your  enemy,  but  a  friend.  I  warn  you  that 
Marseilles  is  unsafe  for  you.  Get  away  as  soon  as  pos^ 
sible.  The  Spanish  police  have  learnt  that  you  have 
come  here,"  he  went  on  as  he  strolled  at  his  side. 

Hugh  was  amazed. 

"How  did  you  know  my  identity  ?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

""I  was  instructed  to  watch  for  your  arrival — and  to 
•warn  you." 

"Who  instructed  you?" 

"A  friend  of  yours — and  mine — The  Sparrow." 

"Has  he  been  here?" 

"No.    He  spoke  to  me  on  the  telephone  from  Paris." 

"What  were  his  instructions  ?" 

"That  you  were  to  go  at  once — to-night — by  car  to  the 
Hotel  de  Paris,  at  Cette.  A  car  and  driver  awaits  you 
at  the  Garage  Beauvau,  in  the  Rue  Beauvau.  I  have 
arranged  everything  at  The  Sparrow's  orders.  You 
are  one  of  Us,  I  understand,"  and  the  man  laughed 
lightly. 

"But  my  bag?"  exclaimed  Hugh. 

"Go  to  the  hotel,  pay  your  bill,  and  take  your  bag 
to  the  station  cloak-room.  Then  go  and  get  the  car,  pick 
up  your  bag,  and  get  out  on  the  road  to  Cette  as  soon  as 
ever  you  can.  Your  driver  will  ask  no  questions,  and 
will  remain  silent.     He  has  his  orders  from  The  Spar- 


row." 


264 


FRIEND  OR  ENEMY?  265 

"Does  The  Sparrow  ever  come  to  Marseilles?"  Hugh 
asked. 

"Yes,  sometimes — when  anything  really  big  brings  him 
Jiere.  I  have,  however,  only  seen  him  once,  five  years 
ago.  He  was  at  your  hotel,  and  the  police  were  so  hot 
upon  his  track  that  only  by  dint  of  great  promptitude  and 
courage  he  escaped  by  getting  out  of  the  window  of  his 
room  and  descending  by  means  of  the  rain-water  pipe. 
It  was  one  of  the  narrowest  escapes  he  has  ever  had." 

As  the  words  left  the  man's  mouth,  they  were  pass- 
ing a  well-lit  brasserie.  A  tall,  cadaverous  man  passed 
them  and  Hugh  had  a  suspicion  that  they  exchanged 
glances  of  recognition. 

Was  his  pretended  friend  an  agent  of  police? 

For  a  few  seconds  he  debated  within  himself  how  he 
should  act.  To  refuse  to  do  as  he  was  bid  might  be  to 
bring  instant  arrest  upon  himself.  If  the  stranger  were 
actually  a  detective — which  he  certainly  did  not  appear 
to  be — then  the  ruse  was  to  get  him  on  the  road  to  Cette 
because  the  legal  formalities  were  not  yet  complete  for 
his  arrest  as  a  British  subject. 

Yet  he  knew  all  about  The  Sparrow,  and  his  attitude 
was  not  in  the  least  hostile. 

Hugh  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether  the  stranger 
was  an  associate  of  the  famous  Sparrow,  or  whether  he 
was  very  cleverly  inveigling  him  into  the  net. 

It  was  only  that  exchange  of  glances  with  the  passer-by 
which  had  aroused  Hugh's  suspicions. 

But  that  significant  look  caused  him  to  hesitate  to 
accept  the  mysterious  stranger  as  his  friend. 

True,  he  had  accepted  as  friends  numbers  of  other 
unknown  persons  since  that  fateful  night  at  Monte  Carlo. 
Yet  in  this  case,  he  felt,  by  intuition,  that  all  was  not  plain 
sailing. 


266     MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Very  well,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  esteem  it  a  very  great 
favour  that  you  should  have  interested  yourself  on  be- 
lialf  of  one  who  is  an  entire  stranger  to  you,  and  I 
heartily  thank  you  for  warning  me  of  my  danger.  When 
I  see  The  Sparrow  I  shall  tell  him  how  cleverly  you  ap- 
proached me,  and  how  perfect  were  your  arrangements 
for  my  escape." 

"I  require  no  thanks  or  reward,  Mr.  Henfrey,"  re- 
plied the  man  politely.  "My  one  desire  is  to  get  you 
safely  out  of  Marseilles." 

And  with  that  the  stranger  lifted  his  hat  and  left  him. 

Hugh  went  about  fifty  yards  farther  along  the  broad, 
well-lit  street  full  of  life  and  movement,  for  the  main 
streets  of  Marseilles  are  alive  both  day  and  night. 

By  some  strange  intuition — why,  he  knew  not — he  sus- 
pected that  affable  little  man  who  had  posed  as  his 
friend.  Was  it  possible  that,  believing  the  notorious 
Sparrow  to  be  his  friend,  he  had  at  haphazard  invented 
the  story,  and  posed  as  one  of  The  Sparrow's  gang? 

If  so,  it  was  certainly  a  very  clever  and  ingenious  sub- 
terfuge. 

He  was  undecided  how  to  act.  He  did  not  wish  to 
give  offence  to  his  friend,  the  king  of  the  underworld, 
and  yet  he  felt  a  distinct  suspicion  of  the  man  who  had 
so  cleverly  approached  him,  and  who  had  openly  declared 
himself  to  be  a  crook. 

That  strange  glance  he  had  exchanged  with  the  pas- 
ser-by beneath  the  rays  of  the  street-lamp  had  been  mys- 
terious and  significant.  If  the  passer-by  had  been  a 
crook,  like  himself,  the  sign  of  recognition  would  be  one 
of  salutation.  But  the  expression  upon  his  alleged  friend's 
face  was  one  of  triumph.  That  made  all  the  difference, 
and  to  Hugh,  with  his  observation  quickened  as  it  had 
been  in  those  months  of  living  with  daily  dread  of  arrest, 


FRIEND  OR  ENEMY?  267 

it  had  caused  him  to  be  seized  with  strong  and  distinct 
suspicions. 

He  felt  in  his  hip  pocket  and  found  that  his  revolver, 
an  American  Smith-Wesson,  was  there.  He  had  a  dis- 
like of  automatic  pistols,  as  he  had  once  had  a  very- 
narrow  escape.  He  had  been  teaching  a  girl  to  shoot 
with  a  revolver,  when,  believing  that  she  had  discharged 
the  whole  magazine,  he  was  examining  the  weapon  and 
pulled  the  trigger,  narrowly  escaping  shooting  her  dead. 

For  a  few  seconds  he  stood  upon  the  broad  pavement. 
Then  he  drew  out  his  cigarette-case.  In  it  were  four 
cigarettes,  two  of  which  The  Sparrow  had  given  him 
when  in  London. 

"Yes,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "Somebody  must  have 
given  me  away  at  Shapley,  and  now  they  have  followed 
me!    I  will  act  for  myself,  and  take  the  risks." 

Then  he  walked  boldly  on,  crossed  the  road,  and  en- 
tered the  big  Hotel  de  Louvre  et  Paix.  To  appear  un- 
concerned he  had  a  drink  at  the  bar,  and  ascending  in 
the  lift,  called  the  floor-waiter,  asked  for  his  bill,  and 
packed  his  bag. 

"Ah!"  he  said  to  himself.  "If  I  could  only  get  to 
know  where  The  Sparrow  is  and  ask  him  the  truth! 
He  may  be  at  that  address  in  Paris  which  he  gave  me." 

After  a  little  delay  the  bill  was  brought  and  he  paid 
it.  Then  in  a  taxi  he  drove  to  the  station  where  he  de- 
posited his  bag  in  the  cloak-room. 

Close  by  the  consigne  a  woman  was  standing.  He 
glanced  at  her,  when,  to  his  surprise,  he  saw  that  she  was 
the  same  woman  who  had  been  sitting  in  the  cafe  with 
a  male  companion. 

Was  she,  he  wondered,  in  league  with  his  so-called 
friend?    And  if  so,  what  was  intended? 

Sight  of   that   woman   lounging  there,   however,   de- 


268    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

tided  him.    She   was,  no   doubt,   awaiting  his   coming. 

He  walked  out  of  the  great  railway  terminus,  and, 
inquiring  the  way  to  the  Rue  Beauvau,  soon  found  the 
garage  where  a  powerful  open  car  was  awaiting  him  in 
the  roadway  outside. 

A  smart  driver  in  a  dark  overcoat  came  forward,  and 
apparently  recognizing  Hugh  from  a  description  that  had 
been  given  to  him,  touched  his  cap,  and  asked  in  French : 

"Where  does  m'sieur  wish  to  go?" 

"To  the  station  to  fetch  my  coat  and  bag,"  replied 
the  young  Englishman,  peering  into  the  driver's  face.  He 
was  a  clean-shaven  man  of  about  forty,  broad-shouldered 
and  stalwart.  Was  it  possible  that  the  car  had  been  hired 
by  the  police,  and  the  driver  was  himself  a  police  agent? 

"Very  well,  m'sieur,"  the  man  answered  politely.  And 
Hugh  having  entered,  he  drove  up  the  Boulevard  de  la 
Liberte  to  the  Gare  St.  Charles. 

As  he  approached  the  consigne,  he  looked  along  the 
platform,  and  there,  sure  enough,  was  the  same  woman 
on  the  watch,  though  she  pretended  to  be  without  the 
slightest  interest  in  his  movements. 

Hugh  put  on  his  coat,  and,  carrying  his  bag,  placed 
it  in  the  car. 

"You  have  your  orders — eh?"  asked  Hugh. 

"Yes,  m'sieur.  We  are  to  go  to  Cette  with  all  speed. 
Is  not  that  so?" 

"Yes,"  was  Hugh's  reply.  "I  will  come  up  beside 
you.  I  prefer  it.  We  shall  have  a  long,  dark  ride  to- 
night." 

"Ah !  but  the  roads  are  good,"  was  the  man's  reply. 
"I  came  from  Cette  yesterday,"  he  added,  as  he  mounted 
to  his  seat  and  the  passenger  got  up  beside  him. 

Hugh  sat  there  very  thoughtful  as  the  car  sped  out 


FRIEND  OR  ENEMY?  269 

of  the  city  of  noise  and  bustle.  The  man's  remark  that 
he  had  come  from  Cette  on  the  previous  day  gave  colour 
to  the  idea  that  no  net  had  been  spread,  but  that  the 
stranger  was  acting  at  the  orders  of  the  ubiquitous 
Sparrow.  Indeed,  were  it  not  for  that  strange  glance 
the  undersized  little  man  had  given  to  the  passer-by, 
he  would  have  been  convinced  that  he  was  actually  once 
again  under  the  protection  of  the  all-powerful  ruler  of 
the  criminal  underworld. 

As  it  was,  he  remained  suspicious.  He  did  not  like 
that  woman  who  had  watched  so  patiently  his  coming 
and  going  at  the  station. 

With  strong  headlights  glaring — for  the  night  was 
extremely  dark  and  a  strong  wind  was  blowing — they 
were  soon  out  on  the  broad  highway  which  leads  first 
across  the  plain  and  then  beside  the  sea,  and  again  across 
the  lowlands  to  old-world  Aries. 

It  was  midnight  before  they  got  to  the  village  of 
Lancon,  an  obscure  little  place  in  total  darkness. 

But  on  the  way  the  driver,  who  told  Hugh  that  his 
name  was  Henri  Aramon,  and  who  insinuated  that  he 
was  one  of  The  Sparrow's  associates,  became  most  af- 
fable and  talkative.  Over  those  miles  of  dark  roads,  un- 
familiar to  Hugh,  they  travelled  at  high  speed,  for  Henri 
had  from  the  first  showed  himself  to  be  an  expert  driver, 
not  only  in  the  unceasing  traffic  of  the  main  streets  of 
Marseilles,  but  also  on  the  dark,  much-worn  roads  lead- 
ing out  of  the  city.  The  roads  around  Marseilles  have 
never  been  outstanding  for  their  excellence,  and  after  the 
war  they  were  indeed  execrable. 

"This  is  Langon,"  the  driver  remarked,  as  they  sped 
through  the  dark  little  town.  "We  now  go  on  to  Salon, 
where  we  have  a  direct  road  across  the  plain  they  call 


270    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

the  Crau  into  Aries.  From  there  the  road  to  Cette  is 
quite  good  and  straight.  The  road  we  are  now  on  is  the 
worst,"  he  added. 

Hugh  was  undecided.  Was  the  man  who  was  driving 
him  so  rapidly  out  of  the  danger  zone  his  friend — or  his 
enemy  ? 

He  sat  there  for  over  an  hour  unable  to  decide. 
"This  is  an  outlandish  part  of  France,"  he  remarked  to 
the  driver  presently. 

"Yes.     But  after  Salon  it  is  more  desolate." 
"And  is  there  no  railway  near?" 

"After  Salon,  yes.  It  runs  parallel  with  the  road  about 
two  miles  to  the  north — the  railway  between  Aries  and 
Aix-en-Provence." 

"So  if  we  get  a  breakdown,  which  I  hope  we  shall 
not,  we  are  not  far  from  a  railway?"  Hugh  remarked, 
as  through  the  night  the  heavy  car  tore  along  that  open 
desolate  road. 

As  he  sat  there  he  thought  of  Dorise,  wondering  what 
had  happened — and  of  Louise.  If  he  had  obeyed  his 
father's  wishes  and  married  the  latter  all  the  trouble 
would  have  been  avoided,  he  thought.  Yet  he  loved 
Dorise — loved  her  with  his  whole  soul. 
And  she  doubted  him. 

Poor  fellow!  Hustled  from  pillar  to  post,  and  com- 
pelled to  resort  to  every  ruse  in  order  to  avoid  arrest  for 
a  crime  which  he  did  not  commit,  yet  about  which  he 
could  not  establish  his  innocence,  he  very  often  despaired. 
At  that  moment  he  felt  somehow — how  he  could  not  ex- 
plain— that  he  was  in  a  very  tight  corner.  He  felt  con- 
fident after  two  hours  of  reflection  that  he  was  being 
driven  over  these  roads  that  night  in  order  that  the  police 
should  gain  time  to  execute  some  legal  formality  for  his 
arrest. 


FRIEND  OR  ENEMY?  271 

Why  had  not  the  police  of  Marseilles  arrested  him? 
There  was  some  subtle  motive  for  sending  him  to  Cette. 

He  had  not  had  time  to  send  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Peters 
in  London,  or  to  Monsieur  Gautier,  the  name  by  which 
The  Sparrow  told  him  he  was  known  at  his  flat  in  the 
Rue  des  Petits  Champs,  in  the  centre  of  Paris.  He 
longed  to  be  able  to  communicate  with  his  all-powerful 
friend,  but  there  had  been  no  opportunity. 

Suddenly  the  car  began  to  pass  through  banks  of 
mist,  which  are  usual  at  night  over  the  low  marshes 
around  the  mouths  of  the  Rhone.  It  was  about  half- 
past  two  in  the  morning.  They  had  passed  through 
the  long  dark  streets  of  Salon,  and  were  already  five 
or  six  miles  on  the  broad  straight  road  which  runs  across 
the  marshes  through  St.  Martin-de-Crau  into  Aries. 

Of  a  sudden  Hugh  declared  that  he  must  have  a 
cigarette,  and  producing  his  case  handed  one  to  the 
driver  and  took  one  himself.  Then  he  lit  the  man's,  and 
afterwards  his  own. 

"It  is  cold  here  on  the  marshes,  monsieur,"  remarked 
the  driver,  his  cigarette  between  his  lips.  "This  mist,  too, 
is  puzzling.  But  it  is  nearly  always  like  this  at  night. 
That  is  why  nobody  lives  about  here." 

"Is  it  quite  deserted?" 

"Yes,  except  for  a  few  shepherds,  and  they  live  up 
north  at  the  foot  of  the  hills." 

For  some  ten  minutes  or  so  they  kept  on,  but  Hugh  had 
suddenly  become  very  watchful  of  the  driver. 

Presently  the  man  exclaimed  in  French: 

"I  do  not  feel  very  well !" 

"What  is1  the  matter?"  asked  Hugh  in  alarm.  "You 
must  not  be  taken  ill  here — so  far  from  anywhere !" 

But  the  man  was  evidently  unwell,  for  he  pulled  up  the 
car. 


272    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Oh!  my  head!"  he  cried,  putting  both  hands  to  his 
brow  as  the  cigarette  dropped  from  his  lips.  "My  head ! 
It  seems  as  if  it  will  burst!  And — and  I  can't  see! 
Everything  is  going  round — round  !  Where — where  am 
If" 

"You  are  all  right,  my  friend.  Get  into  the  back  of 
the  car  and  rest.    You  will  be  yourself  very  quickly." 

And  he  half  dragged  the  man  from  his  seat  and  placed 
him  in  the  back  of  the  car,  where  he  fell  inert  and  un- 
conscious. 

The  cigarette  which  The  Sparrow  had  given  to  Hugh 
only  to  be  used  in  case  of  urgent  necessity  had  cer- 
tainly done  its  work.  The  man,  whether  friend  or  enemy, 
would  not  remain  unconscious  for  many  hours. 

Hugh,  having  settled  him  in  the  bottom  of  the  car, 
placed  a  rug  over  him.  Then,  mounting  to  the  driver's 
place,  he  turned  the  car  and  drove  as  rapidly  as  he  dared 
back  over  the  roads  to  Salon. 

Time  after  time,  he  wondered  whether  he  had  been 
misled;  whether,  after  all,  the  man  who  had  driven  him 
was  actually  acting  under  The  Sparrow's  orders.  If  so, 
then  he  had  committed  a  fatal  error ! 

However,  the  die  was  cast.  He  had  acted  upon  his 
own  initiative,  and  if  a  net  had  actually  been  spread  to 
catch  him  he  had  successfully  broken  through  it.  He 
laughed  as  he  thought  of  the  police  at  Cette  awaiting  his 
arrival,  and  their  consternation  when  hour  after  hour 
passed  without  news  of  the  car  from  Marseilles. 

At  Salon  he  passed  half  way  through  the  town  to  cross 
roads  where  he  had  noticed  in  passing  a  sign-board  which 
indicated  the  road  to  Avignon — the  broad  high  road 
from  Marseilles  to  Paris. 

Already  he  had  made  up  his  mind  how  to  act.  He 
would  get  to  Avignon,  and  thence  by  express  to  Paris. 


FRIEND  OR  ENEMY?  273 

The  rapidcs  from  Marseilles  and  the  Riviera  all  stopped 
at  the  ancient  city  of  the  Popes. 

Therefore,  being  a  good  motor  driver,  Hugh  started 
away  down  the  long  road  which  led  through  the  valley 
to  Orgon,  and  thence  direct  to  Avignon,  which  came  into 
sight  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Before  entering  the  old  city  of  walls  and  castles  Hugh 
turned  into  a  side  road  about  two  miles  distant,  drove 
the  car  to  the  end,  and  opening  a  gate  succeeded  in  get- 
ting it  some  little  distance  into  a  wood,  where  it  was 
well  concealed  from  anyone  passing  along  the  road. 

Then,  descending  and  ascertaining  that  the  driver  was 
sleeping  comfortably  from  the  effects  of  the  strong  nar- 
cotic, he  took  his  bag  and  walked  into  the  town. 

At  the  railway  station  he  found  the  through  express 
from  Ventimiglia — the  Italian  frontier — to  Paris  would 
be  due  in  twenty  minutes,  therefore  he  purchased  a  first- 
class  ticket  for  Paris,  and  in  a  short  time  was  taking  his 
morning  coffee  in  the  wagon-restaurant  on  his  way  to  the 
French  capital. 


TWENTY-FIFTH  CHAPTER 

THE    MAN    CATALDI 

On  the  day  that  Hugh  was  travelling  in  hot  haste  to 
Paris,  Charles  Benton  arrived  in  Nice  early  in  the  after- 
noon. 

Leaving  the  station  it  was  apparent  he  knew  his  way 
about  the  town,  for  passing  down  the  Avenue  de  la  Gare, 
with  its  row  of  high  eucalyptus  trees,  to  the  Place  Mas- 
sena,  he  plunged  into  the  narrow,  rather  evil-smelling 
streets  of  the  old  quarter. 

Before  a  house  in  the  Rue  Rossette  he  paused,  and 
ascending  to  a  flat  on  the  third  floor,  rang  the  bell.  The 
door  was  slowly  opened  by  an  elderly,  rather  shabbily- 
attired  Italian. 

It  was  Yvonne's  late  servant  at  the  Villa  Amette. 
Giulio  Cataldi. 

The  old  man  drew  back  on  recognizing  his  visitor. 

"Well,  Cataldi !"  exclaimed  the  well-dressed  adven- 
turer cheerily.  "I'm  quite  a  stranger — am  I  not?  I  was 
in  Nice,  and  I  could  not  leave  without  calling  to  see 
you." 

The  old  man,  with  ill-grace  scarcely  concealed,  invited 
him  into  his  shabby  room,  saying: 

"Well,  Signor  Benton,  I  never  thought  to  see  you 
again." 

"Perhaps  you  didn't  want  to — eh?  After  that  little 
affair  in  Brussels.  But  I  assure  you  it  was  not  my  fault. 
Mademoiselle  Yvonne  made  the  blunder." 

"And  nearly  let  us  all  into  the  hands  of  the  police — > 

274 


THE  MAN  CATALDI  275 

including  The  Sparrow  himself !"  growled  the  old  fellow. 

"Ah !  But  all  that  has  long  blown  over.  Now,"  he 
went  on,  after  he  had  offered  the  old  man  a  cigar. 
"Now  the  real  reason  I've  called  is  to  ask  you  about  this 
nasty  affair  concerning  Mademoiselle  Yvonne.  You  were 
there  that  night.    What  do  you  know  about  it  ?" 

"Nothing,"  the  old  fellow  declared  promptly.  "Since 
that  night  I've  earned  an  honest  living.  I'm  a  waiter  in 
a  cafe  in  the  Avenue  de  la  Gare." 

"A  most  rvHIent  decision,"  laughed  the  well-dressed 
man.  "It  is  not  everyone  who  can  afford  to  be  honest 
in  these  hard  times.  I  wish  I  could  be,  but  I  find  it  im- 
possible. Now,  tell  me,  Giulio,  what  do  you  know  about 
the  affair  at  the  Villa  Amette?  The  boy,  Henfrey,  went 
there  to  demand  of  Mademoiselle  how  his  father  died. 
She  refused  to  tell  him,  angry  words  arose — and  he  shot 
her.  Now,  isn't  that  your  theory — the  same  as  that  held 
by  the  police  ?" 

The  old  man  looked  straight  into  his  visitor's  face  for 
a  few  moments.    Then  he  replied  quite  calmly : 

"I  know  nothing,  Signor  Benton — and  I  don't  want  to 
know  anything.  I've  told  the  police  all  I  know.  Indeed, 
when  they  began  to  inquire  into  my  antecedents  I  was 
not  very  reassured,  I  can  tell  you." 

"I  should  think  not,"  laughed  Benton.  "Still,  they 
never  suspected  you  to  be  the  man  wanted  for  the  Morel 
affair — an  unfortunate  matter  that  was." 

"Yes,"  sighed  the  old  fellow.  "Please  do  not  mention 
it,"  and  he  turned  away  to  the  window  as  though  to 
conceal  his  guilty  countenance. 

"You  mean  that  you  knoiv  something — but  you  won't 
tell  it !"  Benton  said. 

"I  know  nothing,"  was  the  old  fellow's  stubborn  reply. 

"But  you  know  that  the  young   fellow,  Henfrey,   is 


276    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

guilty !"  exclaimed  Benton.  "Come !  you  were  there  at 
the  time !  You  heard  high  words  between  them — didn't 
you?" 

"I  have  already  made  my  statement  to  the  police,"  de- 
clared the  old  Italian.  "What  else  I  know  I  shall  keep 
to  myself." 

"But  I'm  interested  in  ascertaining  whether  Henfrey 
is  innocent  or  guilty.  Only  two  persons  can  tell  us  that — 
Mademoiselle,  who  is,  alas !  in  a  hopeless  mental  state, 
and  yourself.  You  know — but  you  refuse  to  incriminate 
the  guilty  person.  Why  don't  you  tell  the  truth?  You 
know  that  Henfrey  shot  her !" 

"I  tell  you  I  know  nothing,"  retorted  the  old  man. 
"Why  do  you  come  here  and  disturb  me?"  he  added 
peevishly. 

"Because  I  want  to  know  the  truth,"  Benton  an- 
swered.   "And  I  mean  to !" 

"Go  away !"  snapped  the  wilful  old  fellow.  "I've  done 
with  you  all — all  the  crowd  of  you  !" 

"Ah!"  laughed  Benton.  "Then  you  forget  the  little 
matter  of  the  man  Morel — eh?  That  is  not  forgotten  by 
the  police,  remember !" 

"And  if  you  said  a  word  to  them,  Signor  Benton,  then 
you  would  implicate  yourself,"  the  old  man  growled. 
Seeing  hostility  in  the  Englishman's  attitude  he  instantly 
resented  it. 

"Probably.  But  as  I  have  no  intention  of  giving  you 
away,  my  dear  Giulio,  I  do  not  think  we  need  discuss  it. 
What  I  am  anxious  to  do  is  to  establish  the  guilt — or  the 
innocence — of  Hugh  Henfrey,"  he  went  on. 

"No  doubt.  You  have  reason  for  establishing  his  guilt 
—eh?" 

"No.     Reasons  for  establishing  his  innocence." 


THE  MAN  CATALDI  277 

"For  your  own  ends,  Signor  Benton,"  was  the  shrewd 
old  man's  reply. 

"At  one  time  there  was  a  suspicion  that  you  yourself 
had  fired  at  Mademoiselle." 

"What!"  gasped  the  old  man,  his  countenance  chang- 
ing instantly.    "Who  says  that?"  he  asked  angrily. 

"The  police  were  suspicious,  I  believe.  And  as  far  as 
I  can  gather  they  are  not  yet  altogether  satisfied." 

"Ah!"  growled  the  old  Italian  in  a  changed  voice. 
"They  will  have  to  prove  it !" 

"Well,  they  declare  that  the  shot  was  fired  by  either 
one  or  other  of  you,"  Benton  said,  much  surprised  at 
the  curious  effect  the  allegation  had  upon  the  old  fellow. 

"So  they  think  that  if  the  Signorino  Henfrey  is  inno- 
cent I  am  guilty  of  the  murderous  attack — eh?" 

Benton  nodded. 

"But  they  are  seeking  to  arrest  the  signorino !"  re- 
marked the  Italian. 

"Yes.  That  is  why  I  am  here — to  establish  his  inno- 
cence." 

"And  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  he  was  innocent  I 
should  condemn  myself !"  laughed  the  crafty  old  man. 

"Look  here,  Giulio,"  said  Benton.  "I  confess  that  I 
have  long  ago  regretted  the  shabby  manner  in  which  I 
treated  you  when  we  were  all  in  Brussels,  and  I  hope 
you  will  allow  me  to  make  some  little  amend."  Then, 
taking  from  his  pocket-book  several  hundred-franc  notes, 
he  doubled  them  up  and  placed  them  on  the  table. 

"Ah!"  said  the  old  man.  "I  see!  You  want  to  buy 
my  secret !  No,  take  your  money !"  he  cried,  pushing  it 
back  towards  him  contemptuously.    "I  want  none  of  it." 

"Because  you  are  now  earning  an  honest  living,"  Ben- 
ton sneered. 


278    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Yes — and  II  Passero  knows  it !"  was  Cataldi's  bold 
reply. 

"Then  you  refuse  to  tell  me  anything  you  know  con- 
cerning the  events  of  that  night  at  the  Villa  Amette  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  snapped.  "Take  your  money,  and  leave  me 
in  peace !" 

"And  I  have  come  all  the  way  from  England  to  see 
you,"  remarked  the  disappointed  man. 

"Be  extremely  careful.  You  have  enemies,  so  have  I. 
They  are  the  same  as  those  who  denounced  the  signorino 
to  the  police — as  they  will  no  doubt,  before  long,  de- 
nounce you !"  said  the  old  man. 

"Bah !  You  always  were  a  pessimist,  Giulio,"  Benton 
laughed.  "I  do  not  fear  any  enemies — I  assure  you. 
The  Sparrow  takes  good  care  that  we  are  prevented  from 
falling  into  any  traps  the  police  may  set,"  he  added  after 
a  moment's  pause. 

The  old  waiter  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"One  day  there  may  be  a  slip — and  it  will  cost  you  all 
very  dearly,"  he  said. 

"You  are  in  a  bad  mood,  Giulio — like  all  those  who 
exist  by  being  honest,"  Benton  laughed,  though  he  was 
extremely  annoyed  at  his  failure  to  learn  anything  from 
the  old  fellow. 

Was  it  possible  that  the  suspicions  which  both  Molly 
and  he  had  entertained  were  true — namely,  that  the  old 
man  had  attempted  to  kill  his  mistress?  After  all,  the 
hue  and  cry  had  been  raised  by  the  police  merely  because 
Hugh  Hcnf rey  had  fled  and  successfully  escaped. 

Benton,  after  grumbling  because  the  old  man  would 
make  no  statement,  and  again  hinting  at  the  fact  that  he 
might  be  the  culprit,  left  with  very  ill  grace,  his  long 
journey  from  London  having  been  in  vain. 

If  Henfrey  was  to  be  free  to  marry  Louise,  then  his 


THE  MAN  CATALDI  279 

innocence  must  first  be  proved.  Charles  Benton  had  for 
many  weeks  realized  that  his  chance  of  securing  old  Mr. 
Henfrey's  great  fortune  was  slowly  slipping  from  him. 
Once  Hugh  had  married  Louise  and  settled  the  money 
upon  her,  then  the  rest  would  be  easy.  He  had  many 
times  discussed  it  with  Molly,  and  they  were  both  agreed 
upon  a  vile,  despicable  plot  which  would  result  in  the 
young  man's  sudden  end  and  the  diversion  of  his  father's 
fortune. 

The  whole  plot  against  old  Mr.  Henfrey  was  truly  one 
of  the  most  elaborate  and  amazing  ones  ever  conceived 
by  criminal  minds. 

Charles  Benton  was  a  little  too  well  known  in  Nice, 
hence  he  took  care  to  leave  the  place  by  an  early  train, 
and  went  on  to  Cannes,  where  he  was  a  little  less  known. 
As  an  international  crook  he  had  spent  several  seasons 
at  Nice  and  Monte  Carlo,  but  had  seldom  gone  to  Cannes, 
as  it  was  too  aristocratic  and  too  slow  for  an  escroc  like 
himself. 

Arrived  at  Cannes  he  put  up  at  the  Hotel  Beau  Site, 
and  that  night  ate  an  expensive  dinner  in  the  restaurant 
at  the  Casino.  Then,  next  day,  he  took  the  train-de-luxe 
direct  for  Calais,  and  went  on  to  London,  all  unconscious 
of  the  sensational  events  which  were  then  happening. 

On  arrival  in  London  he  found  a  telegram  lying  upon 
his  table  among  some  letters.  It  was  signed  "Shaw," 
and  urged  him  to  meet  him  "at  the  usual  place"  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  "I  know  you  are  away,  but  I'll 
look  in  each  night  at  seven,"  it  concluded. 

It  was  just  six  o'clock,  therefore  Benton  washed  and 
changed,  and  just  before  seven  o'clock  entered  a  little 
cafe  off  Wardour  Street,  patronized  mostly  by  foreigners. 
At  one  of  the  tables,  sitting  alone,  was  a  wiry-looking, 
middle-aged  man — Mr.  Howell,  The  Sparrow's  friend. 


280    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Well  ?"  asked  Howell,  when  a  few  minutes  later  they 
were  walking  along  Wardour  Street  together.  "How  did 
you  get  on  in  Nice?" 

"Had  my  journey  for  nothing." 

"Wouldn't  the  old  man  tell  anything?"  asked  Howell 
eagerly. 

"Not  a  word,"  Benton  replied.  "But  my  firm  opinion 
is  that  he  himself  tried  to  kill  Yvonne — that  he  shot 
her." 

"Do  you  really  agree  with  me?"  gasped  Howell  ex- 
citedly. "Of  course,  there  has,  all  along,  been  a  certain 
amount  of  suspicion  against  him.  The  police  were  once 
on  the  point  of  arresting  him.     I  happen  to  know  that." 

"Well,  my  belief  is  that  young  Henfrey  is  innocent. 
I  never  thought  so  until  now." 

"Then  we  must  prove  Cataldi  guilty,  and  Henfrey  can 
marry  Louise,"  Howell  said.  "But  the  reason  I  wanted 
to  get  in  touch  with  you  is  that  the  police  went  to 
Shapley." 

"To  Shapley  !"  gasped  Benton. 

"Yes.  They  went  there  the  night  you  left  London. 
Evidently  somebody  has  given  you  away !" 

"Given  me  away  !  Who  in  the  devil's  name  can  it  be  ? 
If  I  get  to  know  who  the  traitor  is  I — I'll — by  gad,  I'll 
kill  him.    I  swear  I  will !" 

"Who  knows  ?  Some  secret  enemy  of  yours — no  doubt. 
Molly  has  been  arrested  and  has  been  up  at  Bow  Street. 
They  also  arrested  Louise,  but  there  being  no  charge 
against  her,  she  has  been  released.  I've  sent  her  up  to 
Cambridge — to  old  Mrs.  Curtis.  I  thought  she'd  be  quite 
quiet  and  safe  there  for  a  time." 

"But  Molly  arrested  !    What's  the  charge  ?" 

"Theft.     An  extradition  warrant  from  Paris.     That 


THE  MAN  CATALDI  281 

jeweller's  affair  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  eighteen  months 
ago." 

"Well,  I  hope  they  won't  bring  forward  other  charges, 
or  it  will  go  infernally  bad  with  her.  What  has  The 
Sparrow  done  ?" 

"He's  abroad  somewhere — but  I've  had  five  hundred 
pounds  from  an  unknown  source  to  pay  for  her  defence. 
I  saw  the  solicitors.  Brigthorne,  the  well-known  bar- 
rister, appeared  for  her." 

"But  all  this  is  very  serious,  my  dear  Howell,"  Benton 
declared,  much  alarmed. 

"Of  course  it  is.  You  can't  marry  the  girl  to  young 
Henfrey  until  he  is  proved  innocent,  and  that  cannot  be 
until  the  guilt  is  fixed  upon  the  crafty  old  Giulio." 

"Exactly.  That's  what  we  must  do.  But  with  Molly 
arrested  we  shall  be  compelled  to  be  very  careful,"  said 
Benton,  as  they  turned  toward  Piccadilly  Circus.  "I 
don't  see  how  we  dare  move  until  Molly  is  either  free  or 
convicted.  If  she  knew  our  game  she  might  give  us  away. 
Remember  that  if  we  bring  off  the  Henfrey  affair  Molly 
has  to  have  a  share  in  the  spoils.  But  if  she  happens  to 
be  in  a  French  prison  she  won't  get  much  chance — eh?" 

"If  she  does  go  it  will  be  ten  years,  without  a  doubt," 
Howell  remarked. 

"Yes.  And  in  the  meantime  much  can  happen — eh?" 
laughed  Benton. 

"Lots.  But  one  reassuring  fact  is  that,  as  far  as  old 
Henfrey's  fate  is  concerned,  Mademoiselle's  lips  are 
closed.    Whoever  shot  her  did  us  a  very  good  turn." 

"Of  course.  But  I  agree  we  must  fix  the  guilt  upon 
old  Cataldi.  He  almost  as  good  as  admitted  it  by  his 
face  when  I  taxed  him  with  it.  Why  not  give  him  away 
to  the  Nice  police?" 


282    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"No,  not  yet.    Certainly  not,"  exclaimed  Howell. 

"It's  a  pity  The  Sparrow  does  not  know  about  the 
Henfrey  business.  He  might  help  us.  Dare  we  tell  him? 
What  do  you  think?" 

"Tell  him!  Good  Heavens!  No!  Surely  you  are 
fully  aware  how  he  always  sets  his  face  against  any 
attempt  upon  human  life,  and  no  one  who  has  taken  life 
has  ever  had  his  forgiveness,"  said  Howell.  "The  Spar- 
row is  our  master — a  fine  and  marvellous  mind  which 
has  no  equal  in  Europe.  If  he  had  gone  into  politics  he 
would  have  been  the  greatest  statesman  of  the  age.  But 
he  is  II  Passero,  the  man  who  directs  affairs  of  every 
kind,  and  the  man  at  the  helm  of  every  great  enterprise. 
Yet  his  one  fixed  motto  is  that  life  shall  not  be  taken." 

"But  in  old  Henfrey's  case  we  acted  upon  our  own 
initiative,"  remarked  Benton. 

"Yes.  Yours  was  a  wonderfully  well-conceived  idea. 
And  all  worked  without  a  hitch  until  young  Henfrey's 
visit  to  Monte  Carlo,  and  his  affection  for  that  girl  Rans- 
comb." 

"We  are  weaning  him  away  from  her,"  Benton  said. 
"At  last  the  girl's  suspicions  are  excited,  and  there  is  just 
that  little  disagreement  which,  broadening,  leads  to  the 
open  breach.  Oh !  my  dear  Howell,  how  could  you  and 
I  live  if  it  were  not  for  that  silly  infection  called  love? 
In  our  profession  love  is  all-conquering.  Without  it  we 
could  make  no  progress,  no  smart  coups,  no  conquests  of 
women  who  afterwards  shed  out  to  us  money  which  at 
the  assizes  they  would  designate  by  the  ugly  word  'black- 
mail.' " 

"Ah!  Charles.  You  were  always  a  philosopher," 
laughed  his  companion — the  man  who  was  a  bosom 
friend  of  The  Sparrow.  "But  it  carries  us  no  nearer. 
We  must,  at  all  costs,  fix  the  hand  that  shot  Yvonne." 


THE  MAN  CATALDI  283 

"Giulio  shot  her — without  a  doubt!"  was  Benton's 
quick  reply. 

They  were  standing  together  on  the  kerb  outside  the 
Tube  station  at  Piccadilly  Circus  as  Benton  uttered  the 
words. 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,  then  let  us  prove  it,"  said 
Howell.  "But  not  yet,  remember.  We  must  first  see  how 
it  goes  with  Molly.  She  must  be  watched  carefully.  Of 
course,  I  agree  that  Giulio  Cataldi  shot  Yvonne.  Later 
we  will  prove  that  fact,  but  the  worst  of  it  is  that  the 
French  police  are  hot  on  the  track  of  young  Henfrey." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  asked  his  companion 
quickly. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  after  a  second's  hesitation,  "I 
heard  so  two  days  ago." 

Then  Howell,  pleading  an  urgent  meeting  with  a  mu- 
tual friend,  also  a  crook  like  themselves,  grasped  the 
other's  hand,  and  they  parted. 


TWENTY-SIXTH  CHAPTER 
lisette's  disclosures 

At  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  that  Hugh  Henfrey  left 
Avignon  for  Paris,  The  Sparrow  stood  at  the  window 
of  his  cosy  little  flat  in  the  Rue  des  Petits  Champs, 
where  he  was  known  to  his  elderly  housekeeper — a  worthy 
old  soul  from  Yvetot,  in  the  north — as  Guillaume  Gautier. 

The  house  was  one  of  those  great  old  ones  built  in 
the  days  of  the  First  Empire,  with  a  narrow  entrance 
and  square  courtyard  into  which  the  stage  coaches  with 
postilions  rumbled  before  the  days  of  the  P.L.M.  and 
aircraft.  In  the  Napoleonic  days  it  had  been  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Dukes  de  Vizelle,  but  in  modern  times  it 
had  been  converted  into  a  series  of  very  commodious 
flats. 

The  Sparrow,  sprightly  and  alert,  stood,  after  taking 
his  cafe  au  lait,  looking  down  into  the  courtyard.  He 
had  been  reading  through  several  letters  and  telegrams 
which  had  caused  him  some  perturbation. 

"They  are  playing  me  false !"  he  muttered,  as  he  gazed 
out  of  the  window.  "I'm  certain  of  it — quite  certain ! 
But,  Gad !  if  they  do  I'll  be  even  with  them  !  Who  could 
have  given  Henfrey  away  in  London — and  why?" 

He  paced  the  length  of  the  room,  his  teeth  hard  set 
and  his  hands  clenched. 

"I  thought  they  were  all  loyal  after  what  I  have  done 
for  them — after  the  fortunes  I  have  put  into  their  pockets. 
Fancy !  one  of  them  a  well-known  member  of  Parlia- 
ment— another  a  director  of  one  of  the  soundest  insur- 

284 


LISETTE'S  DISCLOSURES  285 

ance  companies !  Nobody  suspects  the  really  great 
crooks.  It  is  only  the  little  clumsy  muddlers  whom  the 
police  catch   and   the   judge  makes   examples  of !" 

Then,  crossing  back  to  the  window,  he  said  aloud : 

"Lisette  ought  to  be  here !  She  was  due  in  from 
Toulouse  at  nine  o'clock.  I  hope  nothing  further  has 
happened.  One  thing  is  satisfactory — young  Henfrey 
is  safe." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  girl  had  spoken  to  The  Spar- 
row from  her  hotel  in  Toulouse  late  on  the  previous 
night,  and  told  him  that  her  "friend  Hugh"  was  in 
Marseilles. 

Even  to  the  master-criminal  the  whole  problem  was 
increasingly  complicated.  He  could  not  prove  the  inno- 
cence of  young  Henfrey,  because  of  the  mysterious, 
sinister  influence  being  brought  to  bear  against  him.  He 
had  interested  himself  in  aiding  the  young  fellow  to 
evade  arrest,  because  he  had  no  desire  that  there  should 
be  a  trial  in  which  he  and  his  associates  might  be  im- 
plicated. 

The  Sparrow  hated  trials  of  any  sort.  With  him 
silence  was  golden,  and  very  wisely  he  would  pay  any 
sum  rather  than  court  publicity. 

Half  an  hour  went  past,  but  the  girl  he  expected  did 
not  put  in  an  appearance. 

Monsieur  Gautier — the  man  with  the  gloved  hand — 
was  believed  by  his  old  housekeeper  to  be  a  rich  and 
somewhat  eccentric  bachelor,  who  was  interested  in 
old  clocks  and  antique  silver,  and  who  travelled  exten- 
sively in  order  to  purchase  fine  specimens.  Indeed  it  was 
by  that  description  he  was  registered  in  the  archives  of 
the  Surete,  with  the  observation  that  notwithstanding 
his  foreign  name  he  was  an  Englishman  of  highest  stand- 
ing. 


286    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

It  was  never  dreamed  that  the  bristly-haired  alert 
little  man,  who  was  so  often  seen  in  the  salerooms  of 
Paris  when  antique  silver  was  being  sold,  was  the  notori- 
ous Sparrow. 

Lisette's  failure  to  arrive  considerably  disturbed  him. 
He  hoped  that  nothing  had  happened  to  her.  Time  after 
time,  he  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  eagerly 
for  her  to  cross  the  courtyard.  In  those  rooms  he  some- 
times lived  for  weeks  in  safe  obscurity,  his  neighbours 
regarding  him  as  a  man  of  the  greatest  integrity,  though 
a  trifle  eccentric  in  his  habits. 

At  last,  just  before  eleven,  he  saw  Lisette's  smart 
figure  in  a  heavy  travelling  coat  crossing  the  courtyard, 
and  a  few  moments  later  she  was  shown  into  his  room. 

"You're  late!"  the  old  man  said,  as  soon  as  the  door 
was  closed.  "I  feared  that  something  had  gone  wrong ! 
Why  did  you  leave  Madrid?  What  has  happened?"  he 
asked  eagerly. 

"Plappened!"  she  echoed  in  French.  "Why,  very 
nearly  a  disaster !  Someone  has  given  us  away — at  least, 
Monsieur  Henfrey  was  given  away  to  the  police!" 

'Not  arrested?"  he  asked  breathlessly. 

'No.  We  all  three  managed  to  get  away — but  only 
just  in  time!  I  had  a  wire  to-night  from  Monsieur 
Tresham,  telling  me  guardedly  that  within  an  hour  or 
so  after  we  left  Madrid  the  police  called  at  my  hotel — 
and  at   Henfrey's." 

"Who  can  have  done  that?"  asked  The  Sparrow,  his 
eyes  narrowing  in  anger,  his  gloved  hand  clenched. 

''Your  enemy — and  mine !"  was  the  girl's  reply. 
"Franklyn  is  in  Switzerland.  Monsieur  Henfrey  is  in 
Marseilles — at  the  Louvre  et  Paix — and  I  am  here." 

"Then  we  have  a  secret  enemy — eh  ?" 


ft  ; 


LISETTE'S  DISCLOSURES  287 

"Yes — and  he  is  not  very  far  to  seek.  Monsieur 
Howell  has  done  this !" 

"Howell !  He  would  never  do  such  a  thing,  my  dear 
mademoiselle,"  replied  the  gloved  man,  smiling. 

"Oh !  wouldn't  he  ?  I  would  not  trust  either  Benton 
or  Howell!" 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,  mademoiselle.  They  have 
never  shown  much  friendship  towards  each  other." 

"They  are  close  friends  as  far  as  concerns  the  Hen- 
frey  affair,"  declared  mademoiselle.  "I  happen  to  know 
that  it  was  Howell  who  prepared  the  old  man's  will.  It 
is  in  his  handwriting,  and  his  manservant,  Cooke,  is 
one  of  the  witnesses." 

"What?  You  know  about  that  will,  Lisette?  Tell 
me  everything." 

"Howell  himself  let  it  out  to  me.  They  were  careful 
that  you  should  not  know.  At  the  time  I  was  in  London 
with  Franklyn  and  Benton  over  the  jewels  of  that  ship- 
owner's wife,  I  forget  her  name — the  affair  in  Carlton 
House  Terrace." 

"Yes.     I  recollect.    A  very  neat  piece  of  business." 

"Well — Howell  told  me  how  he  had  prepared  the  will, 
and  how  Benton,  who  was  staying  with  old  Mr.  Hen- 
frey  away  in  the  country,  got  him  to  put  his  signature 
to  it  by  pretending  it  to  be  for  the  purchase  of  a  house 
at  Eltham,  in  Kent.  The  house  was,  indeed,  purchased 
at  Benton's  suggestion,  but  the  signature  was  to  a  will 
which  Howell's  man,  Cooke,  and  a  friend  of  his,  named 
Saunders,  afterwards  witnessed,  and  which  has  now  been 
proved — the  will  by  which  the  young  man  is  compelled 
to  marry  Benton's  adopted  daughter  before  he  inherits 
his   father's  estates." 

"You  actually  know  this — eh?" 


288    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"Howell  told  me  so  with  his  own  lips." 

"Then  why  is  young  Henfrey  being  made  the  victim?" 
asked  The  Sparrow  shrewdly.  "Why,  indeed,  have 
you  not  revealed  this  to  me  before?" 

"Because  I  had  no  proof  before  that  Howell  is  our 
enemy.  He  has  now  given  us  away.  He  has  some 
motive.     What  is  it?" 

The  bristly-haired  little  man  of  twenty  names  and 
as  many  individualities  pondered  for  a  moment.  It 
was  evident  that  he  was  both  apprehensive  and  amazed 
at  the  suggestion  the  pretty  young  French  girl  had 
placed  before  him. 

When  one  finds  a  betrayer,  then  in  order  to  fix  his 
guilt  it  becomes  necessary  to  discover  the  motive. 

The  Sparrow  was  in  a  quandary.  Seldom  was  he 
in  such  a  perturbed  state  of  mind.  He  and  his  accom- 
plices could  always  defy  the  police.  It  was  not  the 
first  time  in  his  career,  however,  that  he  had  found  a 
traitor  in  his  camp.  If  Howell  was  really  a  traitor, 
then  he  would  pay  dearly  for  it.  Three  times  within  the 
last  ten  years  there  had  been  traitors  in  the  great  criminal 
organization.  One  was  a  Dutchman;  the  second  was  a 
Greek ;  and  the  third  a  Swiss.  Each  died — for  dead  men 
tell  no  tales. 

The  Sparrow  ordered  some  cafe  noir  from  his  house- 
keeper and  produced  a  particularly  seductive  brand  of 
liqueur,  which  mademoiselle  took — together  with  a 
cigarette. 

Then  she  left,  he  giving  her  the  parting  injunction: 

"It  is  probable  that  you  will  go  to  Marseilles  and  meet 
young  Henfrey.  I  will  think  it  all  over.  You  will  have 
a  note  from  me  at  the  Grand  Hotel  before  noon  to- 
morrow." 


TWENTY-SEVENTH  CHAPTER 

THE   INQUISITIVE    MR.    SHRIMPTON 

An  hour  later  Hugh  stood  in  The  Sparrow's  room., 
and  related  his  exciting  adventure  in  Marseilles  and  on 
the  high  road. 

"H'm !"  remarked  the  man  with  the  gloved  hand.  "A 
very  pretty  piece  of  business.  The  police  endeavoured 
to  mislead  you,  and  you,  by  a  very  fortunate  circum- 
stance, suspected.  That  cigarette,  my  dear  young  friend, 
stood  you  in  very  good  stead.  It  was  fortunate  that 
I  gave  it  to  you." 

"By  this  time  the  driver  of  the  car  has,  of  course, 
recovered  and  told  his  story,"  Hugh  remarked. 

"And  by  this  time  the  police  probably  know  that  you 
have  come  to  Paris,"  remarked  The  Sparrow.  "Now, 
Mr.  Henfrey,  only  an  hour  ago  I  learnt  something  which 
has  altered  my  plans  entirely.  There  is  a  traitor  some- 
where— somebody  has  given  you  away." 

"Who?" 

"At  present  I  have  not  decided.  But  we  must  all  be 
wary  and  watchful,"  was  The  Sparrow's  reply.  "In 
any  case,  it  is  a  happy  circumstance  that  you  saw  through 
the  ruse  of  the  police  to  get  you  to  Cette.  First  the 
Madrid  police  were  put  upon  your  track,  and  then,  as 
you  eluded  them,  the  Marseilles  police  were  given  timely 
information— a  clever  trap,"  he  laughed.  "I  admire 
it.  But  at  Marseilles  they  are  even  more  shrewd  than  in 
Paris.  Maillot,  the  chef  de  la  Surete  at  Marseilles,  is 
a  really  capable  official.    I  know  him  well.    A  year  ago 

289 


290    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

he  dined  with  me  at  the  Palais  de  la  Bouillabaisse.  I 
pretended  that  I  had  been  the  victim  of  a  great  theft, 
and  he  accepted  my  invitation.  He  little  dreamed  that  I 
was  II  Passero,  for  whom  he  had  been  spreading  the 
net  for  years !" 

"You  are  really  marvellous,  Mr.  Peters,"  remarked 
Hugh.  "And  I  have  to  thank  you  for  the  way  in  which 
you  have  protected  me  time  after  time.  Your  organiza- 
tion is  simply  wonderful." 

The  man  with  the  black  glove  laughed. 
"Nothing  really  wonderful,"  he  said.  "Those  who 
are  innocent  I  protect,  those  who  are  traitors  I  condemn. 
And  they  never  escape  me.  We  have  traitors  at  work 
now.  It  is  for  me  to  fix  the  identity.  And  in  this  you, 
Mr.  Henf rey,  must  help  me.  Have  you  heard  from  Miss 
Ranscomb  ?" 

"No.  Not  a  word,"  replied  the  young  man.  "I  dare 
not  write  to  her." 

"No,  don't.  A  man  from  Scotland  Yard  went  to  see 
her.  So  it  is  best  to  remain  apart — my  dear  boy — even 
though  that  unfortunate  misunderstanding  concerning 
Louise  Lambert  has  arisen  between  you." 

"But  I  am  anxious  to  put  it  right,"  the  young  fellow 
said.     "Dorise  misjudges  me." 

"Ah !  I  know.  But  at  present  you  must  allow  her 
to  think  ill  of  you.  You  must  not  court  arrest.  We  now 
know  that  you  have  enemies  who  intend  you  to  be  the 
victim,  while  they  reap  the  profit,"  said  The  Sparrow 
kindly.  "Leave  matters  to  me  and  act  at  my  sugges- 
tion." 

"That  I  certainly  will,"  Hugh  replied.  "You  have 
never  yet  advised  me  wrongly." 

"Ah!  I  am  not  infallible,"  laughed  the  master- 
criminal. 


THE  INQUISITIVE  MR.  SHRIMPTON     291 

Then  he  rose,  and  crossing  to  the  telephone,  he  in- 
quired for  the  Grand  Hotel.  After  a  few  minutes  he 
spoke  to  Mademoiselle  Lisette,  telling  her  that  she  need 
not  go  to  Marseilles,  and  asking  her  to  call  upon  him 
again  at  nine  o'clock  that  night. 

"Monsieur  Hugh  has  returned  from  the  south,"  he 
added.     ''He  is  anxious  to  see  you  again." 

"Trcs  bien,  m'sieur,"  answered  the  smart  Parisienne. 
"I  will  be  there.  But  will  you  not  both  dine  with  me — 
eh?    At  Vian's  at  seven.     You  know  the  place." 

"Mademoiselle  Lisette  asks  us  to  dine  with  her  at 
Vian's,"  The  Sparrow  said,  turning  to  Hugh. 

"Yes,  I  shall  be  delighted,"  replied  the  young  man. 

So   The   Sparrow  accepted  the  girl's   invitation. 

On  that  same  morning,  Dorise  Ranscomb  had,  after 
breakfast,  settled  herself  to  write  some  letters.  Her 
mother  had  gone  to  Warwickshire  for  the  week-end,  and 
she  was  alone  with  the  maids. 

The  whole  matter  concerning  Hugh  puzzled  her.  She 
could  not  bring  herself  to  a  decision  as  to  his  innocence 
or  his  guilt. 

As  she  sat  writing  in  the  morning-room,  the  maid  an- 
nounced that  Mr.  Shrimpton  wished  to  see  her. 

She  started  at  the  name.  It  was  the  detective  in- 
spector from  Scotland  Yard  who  had  called  upon  her 
on  a  previous  occasion. 

A  few  moments  afterwards  he  was  shown  in,  a  tall 
figure  in  a  rough  tweed  suit. 

"I  really  must  apologize,  Miss  Ranscomb,  for  dis- 
turbing you,  but  I  have  heard  news  of  Mr.  Henfrey. 
He  has  been  in  Marseilles.  Have  you  heard  from 
him?" 

"Not  a  word,"  the  girl  replied.  "And,  Mr.  Shrimpton, 
I  am  growing  very  concerned.     I  really  can't  think  that 


292    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

he  tried  to  kill  the  young  Frenchwoman.     Why  should 
he?" 

"Well,  because  she  had  connived  at  his  father's  death. 
That  seems  to  be  proved." 

"Then  your  theory  is  that  it  was  an  act  of  vengeance  ?" 

"Exactly,  Miss  Ranscomb.  That  is  our  opinion,  and 
a  warrant  being  out  for  his  arrest  both  in  France  and  in 
England,  we  are  doing  all  we  can  to  get  him." 

"But  are  you  certain?"  asked  the  girl,  much  distressed. 
"After  all,  though  on  the  face  of  things  it  seems  that 
there  is  a  distinct  motive,  I  do  not  think  that  Hugh  would 
be  guilty  of  such  a  thing." 

"Naturally.  Forgive  me  for  saying  so,  miss,  but  I 
quite  appreciate  your  point  of  view.  If  I  were  in  your 
place  I  should  regard  the  matter  in  just  the  same  light. 
I,  however,  wondered  whether  you  had  heard  news  of 
him  during  the  last  day  or  two." 

"No.    I  have  heard  nothing." 

"And,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  if  you  did  hear,  you  would 
not  tell  me — eh?" 

"That  is  my  own  affair,  Mr.  Shrimpton,"  she  replied 
resentfully.  "If  you  desire  to  arrest  Mr.  Henfrey  it 
is  your  own  affair.  Why  do  you  ask  me  to  assist 
you?" 

"In  the  interests  of  justice,"  was  the  inspector's  reply. 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  very  promptly,  "I  tell  you  at 
once  that  I  refuse  to  assist  you  in  your  endeavour  to 
arrest  Mr.  Henfrey.  Whether  he  is  guilty  or  not  guilty 
I  have  not  yet  decided." 

"But  he  must  be  guilty.  There  was  the  motive.  He 
shot  the  woman  who  had  enticed  his  father  to  his 
death." 

"And  how  have  you  ascertained  that?" 

"By  logical  deduction." 


THE  INQUISITIVE  MR.  SHRIMPTON     293 

"Then  you  are  trying  to  convict  Mr.  Henfrey  upon 
circumstantial  evidence  alone?" 

"Others  have  gone  to  the  gallows  on  circumstantial 
evidence — Crippen,  for  instance.  There  was  no  actual 
witness  of  his  crime." 

"I  fear  I  must  allow  you  to  continue  your  investi- 
gations, Mr.  Shrimpton,"  she  said  coldly. 

"But  your  lover  has  deceived  you.  He  was  staying 
down  in  Surrey  with  the  girl,  Miss  Lambert,  as  his 
fellow-guest." 

"I  know  that,"  was  Dorise's  reply.  "But  I  have  since 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  my  surmise — my  jealousy 
if  you  like  to  call  it  so — is  unfounded." 

"Ah!  then  you  refuse  to  assist  justice — eh?" 

"No,  I  do  not.  But  knowing  nothing  of  the  circum- 
stances I  do  not  see  how  I  can  assist  you." 

"But  no  doubt  you  know  that  Mr.  Henfrey  evaded  us 
and  went  away — that  he  was  assisted  by  a  man  whom  we 
know  as  The  Sparrow." 

"I  do  not  know  where  he  is,"  replied  the  girl  with 
truth. 

"But  you  know  The  Sparrow,"  said  the  detective. 
"You  admitted  that  you  had  met  him  when  I  last  called 
here." 

"I  have  met  him,"  she  replied. 

"Where  does  he  live?" 

She  smiled,  recollecting  that  even  though  she  had  quar- 
relled with  Hugh,  the  strange  old  fellow  had  been  his 
best  friend.  She  remembered  how  the  White  Cavalier 
had  been  sent  by  him  with  messages  to  reassure  her. 

"I  refuse  to  give  away  the  secrets  of  my  friends,"  she 
responded  a  trifle  haughtily. 

"Then  you  prefer  to  shield  the  master  criminal  of 
Europe?" 


294    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"I  have  no  knowledge  that  The  Sparrow  is  a  criminal." 

"Ask  the  police  of  any  city  in  Europe.  They  will  tell 
you  that  they  have  for  years  been  endeavouring  to  cap- 
ture II  Passero.  Yet  so  cleverly  is  his  gang  organized 
that  never  once  has  he  been  betrayed.  All  his  friends 
are  so  loyal  to  him." 

"Yet  you  want  me  to  betray  him !" 

"You  are  not  a  member  of  the  gang  of  criminals,  Miss 
Ranscomb,"  replied   Shrimpton. 

"Whether  I  am  or  not,  I  refuse  to  say  a  word  concern- 
ing anyone  who  has  been  of  service  to  me,"  was  her 
stubborn  reply.  And  with  that  the  man  from  the  Criminal 
Investigation  Department  had  to  be  content. 

Even  then,  Dorise  was  not  quite  certain  whether  she 
had  misjudged  the  man  who  loved  her  so  well,  but  who 
was  beneath  a  cloud.  She  had  acted  hastily  in  writing 
that  letter,  she  felt.  Yet  she  had  successfully  warned  him 
of  his  peril,  and  he  had  been  able  to  extricate  himself 
from  the  net  spread  for  him. 

It  was  evident  that  The  Sparrow,  who  was  her  friend 
and  Hugh's,  was  a  most  elusive  person. 

She  recollected  the  White  Cavalier  at  the  ball  at  Nice, 
and  how  she  had  never  suspected  him  to  be  the  deputy 
of  the  King  of  the  Underworld — the  man  whose  one 
hand  was  gloved. 

Within  half  an  hour  of  the  departure  of  her  visitor 
from  Scotland  Yard,  the  maid  announced  Mr.  Sherrard. 

Dorise,  with  a  frown,  arose  from  her  chair,  and  a 
few  seconds  later  faced  the  man  who  was  her  mother's 
intimate  friend,  and  who  daily  forced  his  unwelcome 
attentions  upon  her. 

"Your  mother  told  me  you  would  be  alone,  Dorise," 
he  said  in  his  forced  manner  of  affected  elegance.  "So 
I  just  dropped  in.     I  hope  I'm  not  worrying  you." 


THE  INQUISITIVE  MR.  SHRIMPTON      295 

"Oh!  not  at  all,"  replied  the  girl,  sealing  a  letter  which 
she  had  just  written.  "Mother  has  gone  to  Warwickshire, 
and  I'm  going  out  to  lunch  with  May  Petheridge,  an  old 
schoolfellow  of   mine." 

"Oh !  Then  I  won't  keep  you,"  said  the  smug  lover 
of  Lady  Ranscomb's  choice.  He  was  one  of  those  over- 
dressed fops  who  haunted  the  lounges  of  the  Ritz  and 
the  Carlton,  and  who  scraped  acquaintance  with  anybody 
with  a  title.  At  tea  parties  he  would  refer  to  Lord 
This  and  Lady  That  as  intimate  friends,  whereas  he 
had  only  been  introduced  to  them  by  some  fat  wife  of  a 
fatter  profiteer. 

Sherrard  saw  that  Dorise's  attitude  was  one  of  hostility, 
but  with  his  superior  overbearing  manner  he  pretended 
not  to  notice  it. 

"You  were  not  at  Lady  Oundle's  the  night  before  last," 
he  remarked,  for  want  of  something  better  to  say.  "I 
went  there  specially  to  meet  you,  Dorise." 

"I  hate  Lady  Oundle's  dances,"  was  the  girl's  reply. 
"Such  a  lot  of  fearful  old  fogies  go  there." 

"True,  but  a  lot  of  your  mother's  friends  are  in  her 
set." 

"I  know.  But  mother  always  avoids  going  to  her 
dances  if  she  possibly  can.  We  had  a  good  excuse  to 
be  away,  as  mother  was  packing." 

"Elise  was  there,"  he  remarked. 

"And  you  danced  with  her,  of  course.  She's  such  a 
ripping  dancer." 

"Twice.  When  I  found  you  were  not  there  I  went 
on  to  the  club,"  he  replied,  with  his  usual  air  of  boredom. 
"When  do  you  expect  your  mother  back?" 

"Next  Tuesday.  I'm  going  down  to  Huntingdon  to- 
morrow to  stay  with  the  Fishers." 

"Oh !  by  the  way,"  he  remarked  suddenly.     "Tubby 


296    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

Hall,  who  is  just  back  from  Madrid,  told  me  in  the  club 
last  night  that  he'd  seen  your  friend  Henfrey  in  a  restau- 
rant there  with  a  pretty  French  girl." 

"In  Madrid!"  echoed  Dorise,  for  she  had  no  idea  of 
her  lover's  whereabouts.  "He  must  have  been  mistaken 
surely." 

"No.  Tubby  is  an  old  friend  of  Henfrey's.  He  says 
that  he  and  the  girl  seemed  to  be  particularly  good 
friends." 

Dorise  hesitated. 

"You  tell  me  this  in  order  to  cause  me  annoyance!" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Not  at  all.    I've  only  told  you  what  Tubby  said." 

"Did  your  friend  speak  to  Mr.   Henfrey?" 

"I  think  not.  But  I  really  didn't  inquire,"  Sherrard 
replied,  not  failing,  however,  to  note  how  puzzled  she 


was. 


Lady  Ranscomb  was  already  assuring  him  that  the 
girl's  affection  for  the  absconding  Henfrey  would,  sooner 
.or  later,  fade  out.  More  than  once  he  and  she  had  held 
consultation  concerning  the  proposed  marriage,  and  more 
than  once  Sherrard  had  been  on  the  point  of  withdrawing 
from  the  contest  for  the  young  girl's  heart.  But  her 
mother  was  never  tired  of  bidding  him  be  patient,  and 
saying  that  in  the  end  he  would  obtain  his  desire. 

Sherrard,  however,  little  dreamed  how  great  was 
Dorise's  love  for  Hugh,  and  how  deeply  she  regretted 
having  written  that  hasty  letter  to  Shapley. 

Yet  one  of  Hugh's  friends  had  met  him  in  Madrid 
in  company  with  what  was  described  as  a  pretty  young 
French  girl ! 

What  was  the  secret  of  it  all?  Was  Hugh  really 
guilty  of  the  attempt  upon  the  notorious  Mademoiselle? 
If  not,  why  did  he  not  face  the  charge  like  a  man? 


THE  INQUISITIVE  MR.  SHRIMPTON     297 

Such  were  her  thoughts  when,  an  hour  later,  her 
mother's  car  took  her  out  to  Kensington  to  lunch  with 
her  old  school  friend  who  was  on  the  point  of  being 
married  to  a  man  who  had  won  great  distinction  in  the 
Air  Force,  and  whose  portrait  was  almost  daily  in  the 
papers. 

Would  she  ever  marry  Hugh,  she  wondered,  as  she 
sat  gazing  blankly  out  upon  the  London  traffic.  She 
would  write  to  him,  but,  alas !  she  knew  neither  the  name 
under  which  he  was  going,  nor  his  address. 

And  a  telephone  message  to  Mr.  Peters's  house  had 
been  answered  to  the  effect  that  the  man  whose  hand 
was  gloved  was  abroad,  and  the  date  of  his  return  un- 
certain. 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  CHAPTER 

THE    SPARROW'S    NEST 

Mademoiselle  Lisette  met  her  two  guests  at  Vian's 
small  but  exclusive  restaurant  in  the  Rue  Daunou,  and 
all  three  had  a  merry  meal  together.  Afterwards  The 
Sparrow  smoked  a  good  cigar  and  became  amused  at  the 
young  girl's  chatter. 

She  was  a  sprightly  little  person,  and  had  effectively 
brought  off  several  highly  successful  coups.  Before 
leaving  his  cosy  flat  in  the  Rue  des  Petits  Champs,  The 
Sparrow  had  sat  for  an  hour  calmly  reviewing  the  situa- 
tion in  the  light  of  what  Lisette  had  told  him  and  of 
Hugh's  exciting  adventure  on  the  Aries  road. 

That  he  had  successfully  escaped  from  a  very  clever 
trap  was  plain,  but  who  was  the  traitor?  Who,  indeed, 
had  fired  that  shot  which,  failing  to  kill  Yvonne,  had 
unbalanced  her  brain  so  that  no  attention  could  be  paid 
to  her  wandering  remarks? 

He  had  that  morning  been  on  the  point  of  trying  to 
get  into  touch  with  his  friend  Howell,  but  after  Lisette's 
disclosures,  he  was  very  glad  that  he  had  not  done  so. 
His  master-mind  worked  quickly.  He  could  sum  up  a 
situation  and  act  almost  instantly  where  other  men  would 
be  inclined  to  waver.  But  when  The  Sparrow  arrived  at 
a  decision  it  was  unalterable.  All  his  associates  knew 
that  too  well.  Some  of  them  called  him  stubborn,  but 
they  had  to  agree  that  he  was  invariably  right  in  his  sus- 
pions  and  conclusions. 

He  had  debated  whether  he  should  tell  Hugh  what 

208 


THE  SPARROW'S  NEST  299 

Lisette  had  alleged  concerning  the  forgery  of  his  father's 
will,  but  had  decided  to  keep  the  matter  to  himself  and 
see  what  further  proof  he  could  obtain.  Therefore  he 
had  forbidden  the  girl  to  tell  Henfrey  anything,  for,  after 
all,  it  was  quite  likely  that  her  statements  could  not  be 
substantiated. 

After  their  coffee  all  three  returned  to  the  Rue  des 
Petits  Champs  where  Lisette,  merry  and  full  of  vivacity, 
joined  them  in  a  cigarette. 

The  Sparrow  had  been  preoccupied  and  thoughtful  the 
whole  evening.    But  at  last,  as  they  sat  together,  he  said : 

"We  shall  all  three  go  south  to-morrow — to  Nice 
direct." 

"To  Nice !"  exclaimed  Lisette.  "It  is  hardly  safe — 
,)s  it?" 

"Yes.  You  will  leave  by  the  midday  train  from  the 
Gare  de  Lyon — and  go  to  Madame  Odette's  in  the  Boule- 
vard Gambetta.  I  may  want  you.  We  shall  follow  by 
the  train-de-luxe.  It  is  best  that  Mr.  Henfrey  is  out  of 
Paris.    The  Surete  will  certainly  be  searching  for  him." 

Then,  turning  to  Hugh,  he  told  him  that  he  had  better 
remain  his  guest  that  night,  and  in  the  morning  he  would 
buy  him  another  suit,  hat  and  coat. 

"There  will  not  be  so  much  risk  in  Nice  as  here  in 
Paris,"  he  added.  "After  all,  we  ought  not  to  have  ven- 
tured out  to  Vian's." 

Later  he  sat  down,  and  after  referring  to  a  pocket- 
book  containing  certain  entries,  he  scribbled  four  cryptic 
telegrams  which  were,  apparently,  Bourse  quotations,  but 
when  read  by  their  addressees  were  of  quite  a  different 
character. 

He  went  out  and  himself  dispatched  these  from  the 
office  of  the  Grand  Hotel.  He  never  entrusted  his  tele- 
grams of  instructions  to  others. 


300    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

When  he  returned  ten  minutes  later  he  took  up  Le  Soir, 
and  searching  it  eagerly,  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"Ah !  Here  it  is !  Manfield  has  been  successful  and 
got  away  all  right  with  the  German  countess's  trinkets !" 

And  with  a  laugh  he  handed  the  paper  to  Lisette,  who 
read  aloud  an  account  of  a  daring  robbery  in  one  of  the 
best  hotels  in  Cologne — jewels  valued  at  a  hundred  thou- 
sand marks  having  mysteriously  disappeared.  Interna- 
tional thieves  were  suspected,  but  the  Cologne  police  had 
no  clue. 

"M'sieur  Manfield  is  always  extremely  shrewd.  He  is 
such  a  real  ladies'  man,"  laughed  Lisette,  using  some  of 
the  argot  of  the  Montmartre. 

"Yes.  Do  you  recollect  that  American,  Lindsay — with 
whom  you  had  something  to  do  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  I  was  in  London  and  we  went 
out  to  dinner  together  quite  a  lot.  Manfield  was  with 
me  and  we  got  from  his  dispatch-box  the  papers  con- 
cerning that  oil  well  at  Baku.  The  company  was  started 
later  on  in  Chicago,  and  only  two  months  ago  I  received 
my  dividend." 

"Teddy  Manfield  is  a  very  good  friend,"  declared  the 
man  with  the  gloved  hand.  "Birth  and  education  always 
count,  even  in  these  days.  To  any  ex-service  man  I  hold 
out  my  hand  as  the  unit  who  saved  us  from  becoming  a 
German  colony.  But  do  others?  I  make  war  upon  those 
who  have  profited  by  war.  I  have  never  attacked  those 
who  have  remained  honest  during  the  great  struggle.  In 
the  case  of  dog-eat-dog  I  place  myself  on  the  side  of  the 
worker  and  the  misled  patriot — not  only  in  Britain,  but 
in  all  the  countries  of  the  Allies.  If  members  of  the 
Allied  Governments  are  profiteers  what  can.  the  man-in- 
the-street  expect  of  the  poor  little  scraping-up  tradesman 
oppressed  by  taxation  and  bewildered  by  waste?     But 


THE  SPARROW'S  NEST  3or 

there !"  he  added,  "I  am  no  politician !  My  only  object 
is  to  solve  the  mystery  of  who  shot  poor  Mademoiselle 
Yvonne." 

The  pretty  decoy  of  the  great  association  of  escrocs 
smoked  another  cigarette,  and  gazed  into  the  young  man's 
face.  Sometimes  she  shuddered  when  she  reflected  upon 
all  she  knew  concerning  his  father's  unfortunate  end,  and 
of  the  cleverly  concocted  will  by  which  he  was  to  marry 
Louise  Lambert,  and  afterwards  enjoy  but  a  short  career. 

Fate  had  made  Lisette  what  she  was — a  child  of  for- 
tune. Her  own  life  would,  if  written,  form  a  strange  and 
sensational  narrative,  for  she  had  been  implicated  in  a 
number  of  great  robberies  which  had  startled  the  world. 

She  knew  much  of  the  truth  of  the  Henfrey  affair,  and 
she  had  now  decided  to  assist  Hugh  to  vanquish  those 
whose  intentions  were  distinctly  evil. 

At  last  she  rose  and  wished  them  bon  soir. 

"I  shall  leave  the  Gare  de  Lyon  at  eleven  fifty-eight 
to-morrow,  and  go  direct  to  Madame  Odette's  in  Nice," 
she  said. 

"Yes.  Remain  there.  If  I  want  you  I  will  let  you 
know,"  answered  The  Sparrow. 

And  then  she  descended  the  stairs  and  walked  to  her 
hotel. 

Next  evening  Hugh  and  The  Sparrow,  both  dressed 
quite  differently,  left  by  the  Riviera  train-de-luxe.  As 
The  Sparrow  lay  that  night  in  the  wagon-lit  he  tried  to 
sleep,  but  the  roar  and  rattle  of  the  train  prevented  it. 
Therefore  he  calmly  thought  out  a  complete  and  delib- 
erate plan. 

From  one  of  his  friends  in  London  he  had  had  secret 
warning  that  the  police,  on  the  day  he  left  Charing  Cross, 
had  descended  upon  Shapley  Manor  and  had  arrested 
Mrs.  Bond  under  a  warrant  applied  for  by  the  French 


302    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

police,  and  he  also  knew  that  her  extradition  for  trial  in 
Paris  had  been  granted. 

That  there  was  a  traitor  in  the  camp  was  proved,  but 
happily  Hugh  Henfrey  had  escaped  just  in  time. 

For  himself  The  Sparrow  cared  little.  He  seemed  to 
be  immune  from  arrest,  so  cleverly  did  he  disguise  his 
true  identity ;  yet  now  that  some  person  had  revealed  his 
secrets,  what  more  likely  than  the  person,  whoever  it 
was,  would  also  give  him  away  for  the  sake  of  the  big 
reward  which  he  knew  was  offered  for  his  apprehension. 

Before  leaving  Paris  that  evening  he  had  dispatched  a 
telegram,  a  reply  to  which  was  handed  him  in  the  train 
when  it  stopped  at  Lyons  early  next  morning. 

This  decided  him.  He  sent  another  telegram  and  then 
returned  to  where  Hugh  was  lying  half  awake.  When 
they  stopped  at  Marseilles,  both  men  were  careful  not  to 
leave  the  train,  but  continued  in  it,  arriving  at  the  great 
station  of  Nice  in  the  early  afternoon. 

They  left  their  bags  at  a  small  hotel  just  outside  the 
station,  and  taking  a  cab,  they  drove  away  into  the  old 
town.  Afterwards  they  proceeded  on  foot  to  the  Rue 
Rossetti,  where  they  climbed  to  the  flat  occupied  by  old 
Giulio  Cataldi. 

The  old  fellow  was  out,  but  the  elderly  Italian  woman 
who  kept  house  for  him  said  she  expected  him  back  at 
any  moment.  He  was  due  to  come  off  duty  at  the  cafe 
where  he  was  employed. 

So  Hugh  and  his  companion  waited,  examining  the 
poorly-furnished  little  room. 

Now  The  Sparrow  entertained  a  strong  suspicion  that 
Cataldi  knew  more  of  the  tragedy  at  the  Villa  Amette 
than  anyone  else.  Indeed,  of  late,  it  had  more  than  once 
crossed  his  mind  that  he  might  be  the  actual  culprit. 

At  last  the  door  opened  and  the  old  man  entered,  sur- 


THE  SPARROW'S  NEST  303 

prised  to  find  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  master- 
criminal,  The  Sparrow,  whom  he  had  only  met  once 
before. 

He  greeted  his  visitors  rather  timidly. 

After  a  short  chat  The  Sparrow,  who  had  offered  the 
old  man  a  cigarette  from  a  cheap  plated  case  much  worn, 
began  to  make  certain  inquiries. 

"This  is  a  very  serious  and  confidential  affair,  Cataldi," 
he  said.  "I  want  to  know  the  absolute  truth — and  I  must 
have  it." 

"I  know  it  is  serious,  signore,"  replied  the  old  man, 
much  perturbed  by  the  unexpected  visit  of  the  king  of 
the  underworld,  the  elusive  Sparrow  of  whom  everyone 
spoke  in  awe.  "But  I  only  know  one  or  two  facts.  I 
recognize  Signor  Henfrey." 

"Ah !  Then  you  know  me  !"  exclaimed  Hugh.  "You 
recognized  me  on  that  night  at  the  Villa  Amette,  when 
you  opened  the  door  to  me." 

"I  do,  signore.  I  recollect  everything.  It  is  all  photo- 
graphed upon  my  memory.  Poor  Mademoiselle !  You 
questioned  her — as  a  gentleman  would — and  you  de- 
manded to  know  about  your  father's  death.  She  pre- 
varicated— and " 

"Then you  overheard  it?"  said  Hugh. 

"Yes,  I  listened.  Was  I  not  Mademoiselle's  servant? 
On  that  night  she  had  won  quite  a  large  sum  at  the 
Rooms,  and  she  had  given  me — ah !  she  was  always  most 
generous — five  hundred  francs — twenty  pounds  in  your 
English  money.  And  they  were  acceptable  in  these  days 
of  high  prices.  I  heard  much.  I  was  interested.  Made- 
moiselle was  my  mistress  whom  I  had  served  faithfully." 

"You  wondered  why  this  young  Englishman  should 
call  upon  her  at  that  hour?"  said  The  Sparrow. 

"I  did.      She  never   received  visitors   after  her  five 


304    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

o'clock  tea.  It  was  the  habit  at  the  Villa  Amette  to  lunch 
at  one  o'clock,  English  tea  at  five  o'clock,  and  dinner  at 
eight — when  the  Rooms  were  slack  save  for  the  tourists 
from  seven  till  ten.  Strange !  the  tourists  always  think 
they  can  win  while  the  gambling  world  has  gone  to  its 
meals !    They  get  seats,  it  is  true,  but  they  always  lose." 

"Yes,"  replied  The  Sparrow.  "It  is  a  strange  fact 
that  the  greatest  losses  are  sustained  by  the  players  when 
the  Rooms  are  most  empty.  Nobody  has  yet  ever  been 
able  to  account  for  it." 

"And  yet  it  is  so,"  declared  old  Cataldi.  "I  have 
watched  it  day  by  day.  But  poor  Mademoiselle !  What 
can  we  do  to  solve  the  mystery?" 

"Were  you  not  with  Mademoiselle  and  Mr.  Benton 
when  you  both  brought  off  that  great  coup  in  the  Avenue 
Louise,  in  Brussels?"  asked  the  Sparrow. 

"Yes,  signore,"  said  the  old  man.  "But  I  do  not  wish 
to  speak  of  it  now." 

"Quite  naturally.  I  quite  appreciate  it.  Since  Made- 
moiselle's— er — accident  you  have,  I  suppose,  been  lead- 
ing an  honest  life?" 

"Yes.    I  have  tried  to  do  so.    At  present  I  am  a  cafe 


waiter." 


"And  you  can  tell  me  nothing  further  regarding  the 
affair  at  the  Villa  Amette  ?"  asked  The  Sparrow,  eyeing 
him  narrowly. 

"I  regret,  signore,  I  can  tell  you  nothing  further," 
replied  the  staid,  rather  sad-looking  old  man ;  "nothing." 
And  he  sighed. 

"Why?"  asked  the  man  whose  tentacles  were,  like  an 
octopus,  upon  a  hundred  schemes,  and  as  many  criminal 
coups  in  Europe.  He  sought  a  solution  of  the  problem, 
but  nothing  appeared  forthcoming. 


THE  SPARROW'S  NEST  305 

He  had  strained  every  effort,  but  he  could  ascertain 
nothing. 

That  Cataldi  knew  the  key  to  the  whole  problem  The 
Sparrow  felt  assured.  Yet  why  did  not  the  old  fellow 
tell  the  truth? 

At  last  The  Sparrow  rose  and  left,  and  Hugh  followed 
him.  Both  were  bitterly  disappointed.  The  old  man 
refused  to  say  more  than  that  he  was  ignorant  of  the 
whole  affair. 

Cataldi's  attitude  annoyed  the  master-criminal. 

For  three  days  he  remained  in  Nice  with  Hugh,  at 
great  risk  of  recognition  and  arrest. 

On  the  fourth  day  they  went  together  in  a  hired  car 
along  the  winding  road  across  the  Var  to  Cannes. 

At  a  big  white  villa  a  little  distance  outside  the  pretty 
winter  town  of  flowers  and  palms,  they  halted.  The 
house,  which  was  on  the  Frejus  road,  was  once  the  resi- 
dence of  a  Russian  prince. 

With  The  Sparrow  Hugh  was  ushered  into  a  big,  sunny 
room  overlooking  the  beautiful  garden  where  climbing 
geraniums  ran  riot  with  carnations  and  violets,  and  for 
some  minutes  they  waited.  From  the  windows  spread  a 
wide  view  of  the  calm  sapphire  sea. 

Then  suddenly  the  door  opened. 


TWENTY-NINTH  CHAPTER 

THE   STORY   OF    MADEMOISELLE 

Both  men  turned  and  before  them  they  saw  the  plainly 
dressed  figure  of  a  beautiful  woman,  and  behind  her  an 
elderly,  grey-faced  man. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  woman  stared  at  The  Sparrow 
blankly.    Then  she  turned  her  gaze  upon  Hugh. 

Her  lips  parted.  Suddenly  she  gave  vent  to  a  loud  cry, 
almost  of  pain,  and  placing  both  hands  to  her  head, 
gasped : 

"DieuP 

It  was  Yvonne  Ferad.  And  the  cry  was  one  of  recog- 
nition. 

Hugh  dashed  forward  with  the  doctor,  for  she  was 
on  the  point  of  collapse  at  recognizing  them.  But  in  a 
few  seconds  she  recovered  herself,  though  she  was 
deathly  pale  and  much  agitated. 

"Yvonne !"  exclaimed  The  Sparrow  in  a  low,  kindly 
voice.  "Then  you  know  who  we  really  are?  Your 
reason  has  returned?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  in  French.  "I  remember  who 
you  are.  Ah !  But — but  it  is  all  so  strange !"  she  cried 
wildly.  "I— I— I  can't  think  !  At  last !  Yes.  I  know. 
I  recollect !  You !"  And  she  stared  at  Hugh.  "You — 
you  are  Monsieur  HenfreyP 

"That  is  so,  mademoiselle." 

"Ah,  messieurs,"  remarked  the  elderly  doctor,  who 
was  standing  behind  his  patient.  "She  recognizes  you 
both — after  all !     The  sudden  shock  at  seeing  you  has 

306 


THE  STORY  OF  MADEMOISELLE      307 

accomplished  what  we  have  failed  all  these  months  to 
accomplish.  It  is  efficacious  only  in  some  few  cases.  In 
this  it  is  successful.  But  be  careful.  I  beg  of  you  not  to 
overtax  poor  mademoiselle's  brain  with  many  questions. 
I  will  leave  you." 

And  he  withdrew,  closing  the  door  softly  after  him. 

For  a  few  minutes  The  Sparrow  spoke  to  Mademoiselle 
of  Monte  Carlo  about  general  things. 

"I  have  been  very  ill,"  she  said  in  a  low,  tremulous 
voice.  "I  could  think  of  nothing  since  my  accident,  until 
now — and  now" — and  she  gazed  around  her  with  a  new 
interest  upon  her  handsome  countenance — "and  now  I 
remember ! — but  it  all  seems  too  hazy  and  indistinct." 

"You  recollect  things — eh?"  asked  The  Sparrow  in  a 
kindly  voice,  placing  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder  and 
looking  into  her  tired  eyes. 

"Yes.  I  remember.  All  the  past  is  slowly  returning 
to  me.  It  seems  ages  and  ages  since  I  last  met  you,  Mr. 
— Mr.  Peters,"  and  she  laughed  lightly.  "Peters — that 
is  the  name — eh?" 

"It  is,  mademoiselle,"  he  laughed.  "And  it  is  a  happy 
event  that,  by  seeing  us  unexpectedly,  your  memory  has 
returned.  But  the  reason  Mr.  Henfrey  is  here  is  to  re- 
sume that  conversation  which  was  so  suddenly  inter- 
rupted at  the  Villa  Amette." 

Mademoiselle  was  silent  for  some  moments.  Her 
face  was  averted,  for  she  was  gazing  out  of  the  window 
to  the  distant  sea. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  reveal  to  Monsieur  Henfrey  the 
— the  secret  of  his  father's  death?"  she  asked  of  The 
Sparrow. 

"Certainly.  You  were  about  to  do  so  when — when 
the  accident  happened." 

"Yes.     But — but,  oh! — how  can  I  tell  him  the  actual 


308    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

truth  when — when,  alas!  I  am  so  guilty?"  cried  the 
woman,  much  distressed. 

"No,  no,  mademoiselle,"  said  Hugh,  placing  his  hand 
tenderly  upon  her  shoulder.  "Calm  yourself.  You  did 
not  kill  my  father.  Of  that  I  am  quite  convinced.  Do 
not  distress  yourself,  but  tell  me  all  that  you  know." 

"Mr.  Peters  knows  something  of  the  affair,  I  be- 
lieve," she  said  slowly.  "But  he  never  planned  it.  The 
whole  plot  was  concocted  by  Benton."  Then,  turning  to 
Hugh,  Mademoiselle  said  almost  in  her  natural  tone, 
though  slightly  high-pitched  and  nervous: 

"Benton,  the  blackguard,  was  your  father's  friend  at 
Woodthorpe.  With  a  man  named  Howell,  known  also 
as  Shaw,  he  prepared  a  will  which  your  father  signed 
unconsciously,  and  which  provided  that  in  the  event 
of  his  death  you  should  be  cut  off  from  almost  every 
benefit  if  you  did  not  marry  Louise  Lambert,  Benton's 
adopted   daughter." 

"But  who  is  Louise  actually?"  asked  Hugh  interrupt- 
ing. 

"The  real  daughter  of  Benton,  who  has  made  pre- 
tence of  adopting  her.  Of  course  Louise  is  unaware  of 
that  fact,"  Yvonne  replied. 

Hugh  was  much  surprised  at  this.  But  he  now  saw 
the  reason  why  Mrs.  Bond  was  so  solicitous  of  the 
poor  girl's  welfare. 

''Now  I  happened  to  be  in  London,  and  on  one  of 
your  father's  visits  to  town,  Benton,  his  friend,  intro- 
duced us.  Naturally  I  had  no  knowledge  of  the  plot 
which  Benton  and  Howell  had  formed,  and  finding  your 
father  a  very  agreeable  gentleman,  I  invited  him  to  the 
furnished  flat  I  had  taken  at  Queen's  Gate.  I  went  to 
the  theatre  with  him  on  two  occasions,  Benton  accom- 
panying us,  and  then  your  father  returned  to  the  country. 


THE  STORY  OF  MADEMOISELLE      309 

One  day,  about  two  months  later,  Howell  happened  to  be 
in  London,  and  presumably  they  decided  that  the  plot 
was  ripe  for  execution,  for  they  asked  me  to  write  to 
Mr.  Henfrey  at  Woodthorpe,  and  suggest  that  he  should 
come  to  London,  have  an  early  supper  with  us,  and  go 
to  a  big  charity  ball  at  the  Albert  Hall.  In  due  course 
I  received  a  wire  from  Mr.  Henfrey,  who  came  to  Lon- 
don, had  supper  with  me,  Benton  and  Howell  being  also 
present,  while  Howell's  small  closed  car,  which  he  always 
drove  himself,  was  waiting  outside  to  take  us  to  the  ball." 

Then  she  paused  and  drew  a  long  breath,  as  though  the 
recollection  of  that  night  horrified  her — as  indeed  it  did. 

"After  supper  I  rose  and  left  the  room  to  speak  to 
my  servant  for  a  moment,  when,  just  as  I  re-entered,  I 
saw  Howell,  who  was  standing  behind  Mr.  Henfrey 's 
chair,  suddenly  bend,  place  his  left  arm  around  your 
father's  neck,  and  with  his  right  hand  press  on  the  nape 
of  the  neck  just  above  his  collar.  'Here!'  your  father 
cried  out,  thinking  it  was  a  joke,  'what's  the  game?'  But 
the  last  word  was  scarcely  audible,  for  he  collapsed  across 
the  table.  I  stood  there  aghast.  Howell,  suddenly  no- 
ticing me,  told  me  roughly  to  clear  out,  as  I  was  not 
wanted.  I  demanded  to  know  what  had  happened,  but 
I  was  told  that  it  did  not  concern  me.  My  idea  was  that 
Mr.  Henfrey  had  been  drugged,  for  he  was  still  alive  and 
apparently  dazed.  I  afterwards  heard,  however,  that 
Howell  had  pressed  the  needle  of  a  hypodermic  syringe 
containing  a  newly  discovered  and  untraceable  poison 
which  he  had  obtained  in  secret  from  a  certain  chemist  in 
Frankfort,  who  makes  a  speciality  of  such  things." 

"And  what  happened  then?"  asked  Hugh,  aghast  and 
astounded  at  the  story. 

"Benton  and  Howell  sent  me  out  of  the  room.  They 
waited  for  over  an  hour.     Then  Howell  went  down  to 


3io    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

the  car.  Afterwards,  when  all  was  clear,  they  half  car- 
ried poor  Mr.  Henfrey  downstairs,  placed  him  in  the 
car,  and  drove  away.  Next  day  I  heard  that  my  guest 
had  been  found  by  a  constable  in  a  doorway  in  Albe- 
marle Street.  The  officer,  who  first  thought  he  was  in- 
toxicated, later  took  him  to  St.  George's  Hospital,  where 
he  died.  Afterwards  a  scratch  was  found  on  the  palm 
of  his  hand,  and  the  doctors  believed  it  had  been  caused 
by  a  pin  infected  with  some  poison.  The  truth  was, 
however,  that  his  hand  was  scratched  in  opening  a  bottle 
of  champagne  at  supper.  The  doctors  never  suspected 
the  tiny  puncture  in  the  hair  at  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and 
they  never  discovered  it." 

"I  knew  nothing  of  the  affair,"  declared  The  Sparrow, 
his  face  clouded  by  anger.  "Then  Howell  was  the  actual 
murderer  ?" 

"He  was,"  Yvonne  replied.  "I  saw  him  press  the 
needle  into  Mr.  Henfrey's  neck,  while  Benton  stood  by, 
ready  to  seize  the  victim  if  he  resisted.  Benton  and 
Howell  had  agreed  to  kill  Mr.  Henfrey,  compel  his  son 
to  marry  Louise,  and  then  get  Hugh  out  of  the  world 
by  one  or  other  of  their  devilish  schemes.  Ah !"  she 
sighed,  looking  sadly  before  her.  "I  see  ii;  all  now — 
everything." 

"Then  it  was  arranged  that  after  I  had  married  Louise 
I  should  also  meet  with  an  unexpected  end?" 

"Yes.  One  that  should  discredit  you  in  the  eyes  of 
your  wife  and  your  own  friends — an  end  probably  like 
your  father's.  A  secret  visit  to  London,  and  a  mysteri- 
ous death,"  Mademoiselle  replied. 

She  spoke  quite  calmly  and  rationally.  The  shock 
of  suddenly  encountering  the  two  persons  who  had  been 
uppermost  in  her  thoughts  before  those  terrible  injuries 


THE  STORY  OF  MADEMOISELLE      311 

to  her  brain  had  balanced  it  again.  Though  the  pains  in 
her  head  were  excruciating,  as  she  explained,  yet  she 
could  now  think,  and  she  remembered  all  the  bitterness 
of  the  past. 

"You,  M'sieur  Henfrey,  are  the  son  of  my  dead  friend. 
You  have  been  the  victim  of  a  great  and  dastardly  con- 
spiracy," she  said.  "But  I  ask  your  forgiveness,  for  I 
assure  you  that  when  I  invited  your  father  up  from 
Woodthorpe  I  had  no  idea  whatever  of  what  those  as- 
sassins intended." 

"Benton  is  already  under  arrest  for  another  affair," 
broke  in  The  Sparrow  quietly.  "I  heard  so  from  London 
yesterday." 

"Ah !  And  I  hope  that  Howell  will  also  be  punished 
for  his  crime,"  the  handsome  woman  cried.  "Though  I 
have  been  a  thief,  a  swindler,  and  a  decoy — ah!  yes,  I 
admit  it  all — I  have  never  committed  the  crime  of  murder. 
I  know,  messieurs,"  she  went  on — "I  know  that  I  am 
a  social  outcast,  the  mysterious  Mademoiselle  of  Monte 
Carlo,  they  call  me !  But  I  have  suffered.  I  have  indeed 
in  these  last  months  paid  my  debt  to  Society,  and  of  you, 
Mr.  Henfrey,  I  beg  forgiveness." 

"I  forgive  you,  Mademoiselle,"  Hugh  replied,  grasping 
her  slim,  white  hand. 

"Mademoiselle  will,  I  hope,  meet  Miss  Ranscomb,  Mr. 
Henf rey's  fiancee,  and  tell  her  the  whole  truth,"  said  The 
Sparrow. 

"That  I  certainly  will,"  Yvonne  replied.  "Now  that  I 
can  think  I  shall  be  allowed  to  leave  this  place — eh?" 

"Of  course.  I  will  see  after  that,"  said  the  man  known 
as  Mr.  Peters.  "You  must  return  to  the  Villa  Amette — 
for  you  are  still  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo,  remem- 
ber!   Leave  it  all  to  me."    And  he  laughed  happily. 


3i2    MADEMOISELLE  OF  MONTE  CARLO 

"But  we  are  no  nearer  the  solution  of  the  mystery  as 
to  who  attempted  to  kill  you,  Mademoiselle,"  Hugh 
remarked. 

"There  can  be  but  one  person.  Old  Cataldi  knows 
who  it  is,"  she  answered. 

"Cataldi?  Then  why  has  he  not  told  me?  I  ques- 
tioned him  closely  only  the  other  day,"  said  The  Sparrow. 

"For  certain  reasons,"  Mademoiselle  replied.  "He 
dare  not  tell  the  truth !" 

"Why?"  asked  Hugh. 

"Because — well "  and  she  turned  to  The  Sparrow. 

"You  will  recollect  the  affair  we  brought  off  in  Brussels 
at  that  house  of  the  Belgian  baroness  close  to  the  Bois 
de  la  Cambre.  A  servant  was  shot  dead.  Giulio  Cataldi 
Shot  him  in  self-defence.    But  Howell  knows  of  it." 

"Well?"  asked  The  Sparrow. 

"Howell  was  in  Monte  Carlo  on  the  night  of  the  at- 
tempt upon  me.  I  met  him  in  the  Casino  half  an  hour 
before  I  left  to  walk  home.  He  no  doubt  recognized 
Mr.  Henfrey,  who  was  also  there,  as  the  son  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  murdered,  watched  him,  and  followed 
him  up  to  my  villa.  He  suspected  that  Mr.  Henfrey's 
object  was  to  face  me  and  demand  an  explanation." 

"Do  you  really  think  so  ?"  gasped  Hugh. 

"Of  that  I  feel  positive.     Only  Cataldi  can  prove  it." 

"Why  Cataldi?"  inquired  Hugh. 

"See  him  again  and  tell  him  what  I  have  revealed  to 
you,"  answered  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo. 

"Who  was  it  who  warned  me  against  you  by  that  letter 
posted  in  Tours?" 

"It  was  part  of  Howell's  scheme,  no  doubt.  I  have 
no  idea  of  the  identity  of  the  writer  of  any  anonymous 
letter.  But  Howell,  no  doubt,  saw  that  if  he  rid  himself 
of  me  it  would  be  to  his  great  advantage." 


THE  STORY  OF  MADEMOISELLE      313 

"Then  Cataldi  will  not  speak  the  truth  because  he 
fears  Howell?"  remarked  the  notorious  chief  of  Europe's 
underworld. 

"Exactly.  Now  that  I  can  think,  I  can  piece  the  whole 
puzzle  together.  It  is  all  quite  plain.  Do  you  not  recol- 
lect Howell's  curious  rifle  fashioned  in  the  form  of  a 
walking-stick?  When  I  halted  to  speak  to  Madame 
Beranger  on  the  steps  of  the  Casino  as  I  came  out  that 
night,  he  passed  me  carrying  that  stick.  Indeed,  he  is 
seldom  without  it.  By  means  of  that  disguised  rifle  I 
was  shot !" 

"But  you  speak  of  Cataldi.    How  can  he  know?" 

"When  I  entered  the  house  I  told  him  quickly  that  I 
believed  Howell  was  following  me.  I  ordered  him  to 
watch.  This  no  doubt  he  did.  He  has  ever  been  faith- 
ful to  me." 

"But  why  should  Howell  have  attempted  to  fix  his 
guilt  upon  Mr.  Henfrey?"  asked  The  Sparrow.  "In 
doing  so  he  was  defeating  his  own  aims.  If  Mr.  Henfrey 
were  sent  to  prison  he  could  not  marry  Louise  Lambert, 
and  if  he  had  married  Louise  he  would  have  benefited 
Howell!    Therefore  the  whole  plot  was  nullified." 

"Exactly,  m'sieur.  Howell  attempted  to  kill  me  in 
order  to  preserve  his  secret,  fearing  that  if  I  told  Mr. 
Henfrey  the  truth  he  would  inform  the  police  of  the 
circumstances  of  his  father's  assassination.  In  making 
the  attempt  upon  me  he  defeated  his  own  ends — a  fact 
which  he  only  realized  when  too  late!" 


CONCLUSION 

The  foregoing  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
stories  of  the  underworld  of  Europe. 

Its  details  are  set  down  in  full  in  three  big  port- 
folios in  the  archives  of  the  Surete  in  Paris — where  the 
present  writer  has  had  access  to  them. 

In  that  bald  official  narrative  which  is  docketed  under 
the  heading  "No.  23489/263— Henfrey"  there  is  no  men- 
tion of  the  love  affair  between  Dorise  Ranscomb  and 
Hugh  Henfrey  of  Woodthorpe. 

But  the  true  facts  are  that  within  three  days  of 
Mademoiselle's  recovery  of  her  mental  balance,  old 
Giulio  Cataldi  made  a  sworn  statement  to  the  police  at 
Nice,  and  in  consequence  two  gendarmes  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Seine  et  Oise  went  one  night  to  a  small  hotel 
at  Provins,  where  they  arrested  the  Englishman,  Shaw, 
alias  Howell,  who  had  gone  there  in  what  he  thought  was 
safe  hiding. 

The  arrest  took  place  at  midnight,  but  Howell,  on  being 
cornered  in  his  bedroom,  showed  fight,  and  raising  an 
automatic  pistol,  which  he  had  under  his  pillow,  shot  and 
wounded  one  of  the  gendarmes.  Whereupon  his  com- 
panion drew  his  revolver  in  self-defence  and  shot  the 
Englishman  dead. 

Benton,  a  few  months  later,  was  sentenced  to  forced 
labour  for  fifteen  years,  while  his  accomplice,  Molly 
Bond,  received  a  sentence  of  ten  years.  Only  one  case 
— that  of  jewel  robbery — was,  however,  proved  against 
her. 

Dorise,  about  six  weeks  after  Mademoiselle  Yvonne's 

314 


CONCLUSION  315 

explanation,  met  her  in  London,  and  there  she  and  Hugh 
became  reconciled.  Her  jealousy  of  Louise  Lambert 
disappeared  when  she  knew  the  actual  truth,  and  she 
admired  her  lover  all  the  more  for  his  generosity  in 
promising,  when  the  Probate  Court  had  set  aside  the 
false  will,  that  he  would  settle  a  comfortable  income 
upon  the  poor  innocent  girl. 

This,  indeed,  he  did. 

The  Sparrow  has  never  since  been  traced,  though 
Scotland  Yard  and  the  Surete  have  searched  everywhere 
for  him.  But  he  is  far  too  clever.  The  writer  believes 
he  is  now  living  in  obscurity,  but  perfectly  happy,  in  a 
little  village  outside  Barcelona.    He  loves  the  sunshine. 

As  for  Hugh,  he  is  now  happily  married  to  Dorise, 
and  as  the  Probate  Court  has  decided  that  Woodthorpe 
and  the  substantial  income  are  his,  he  is  enjoying  all 
his  father's  wealth. 

Yvonne  Ferad  is  still  Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo. 
She  still  lives  on  the  hill  in  the  picturesque  Villa  Amette, 
and  is  still  known  to  the  habitues  of  the  Rooms  as — 
Mademoiselle  of  Monte  Carlo. 

On  most  nights  in  spring  she  can  be  seen  at  the  Rooms, 
and  those  who  know  the  truth  tell  the  queer  story  which 
I  have  in  the  foregoing  pages  attempted  to  relate. 

THE  END 

Read  An  International  Mystery  Story 

By  the  Same  Author 

THE  INTRIGUERS 

An  absorbing  tale  of  intrigue,  plot  and 
counter-plot  in  high  circles.  The  kind  of 
story  that  takes  us  back  into  the  old  world 
of  romance. 


Another   tremendous   success   by 
the  author  of  "DESERT  LOVE" 

The  Hawk  of  Egypt 

Joan  Conquest's  exotic  story  of  the  love-madness 
with  which  mysterious  Egypt  drugs  the  souls  of 
men  and  women. 

Its  realism  will 
thrill  you 

You  will  see: 

Cairo,  the  native  quarter,  the  bazaars,  the  flaming 
desert,  the  love  tryst  in  the  temple  of  Ammon, 
Zulannah,  the  dancing  girl — the  jewelled  siren  of 
the  Nile,  Damans,  the  beautiful  English  heroine, 
Kelham,  the  lion  hunter  and  Hugh  Garden  Ali, 
the  man  who  sold  his  life  for 

One  Hour  of  Love 


They  Were  Alone  .  .  .  . 

The  magic  of  the  desert  night  had  closed  about 
them.  Cairo,  friends, — civilization  as  she  knew 
it — were  left  far  behind.  She,  an  unbeliever, 
was  in  the  heart  of  the  trackless  wastes  with  a 
man  whose  word  was  more  than  law. 

And  yet,  he  was  her  slave! 

"I  shall  ask  nothing  of  you  until  you  shall  love 
tne,"  he  promised.  "You  shall  draw  your  cur- 
tains, and  until  you  call,  you  shall  go  undis- 
turbed." 

And  she  believed  him! 

Do  you  want  to  see  luxury  beyond  your  imag- 
ination to  conjure, — feel  the  softness  of  silks 
finer  than  the  gossamer  web  of  the  spider — hear 
the  night  voices  of  the  throbbing  desert,  or  sway 
to  the  jolting  of  the  clanking  caravan? 

Egypt,  Arabia  pass  before  your  eyes.  The 
impatient  cursing  of  the  camel  men  comes  to 
your  ears.  Your  nostrils  quiver  in  the  acrid 
smoke  of  the  little  fires  of  dung  that  flare  in  the 
darkness  when  the  caravan  halts.  The  night  has 
shut  off  prying  eyes.  Yashmaks  are  lowered. 
White  flesh  gleams  against  burnished  bands  of 
gold.     The  children  of  Allah  are  at  home. 

And  the  promise  he  had  given  her?. .  .let  Joan 
Conquest,  who  knows  and  loves  the  East,  tell 
you  in 

DESERT  LOVE 

For  sale  wherever  books  are  sold,  or  from 

The  Macaulay  Company 

PUBLISHERS 
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Here  are  two  pages  selected  at  random  from 
THE  HAWK  OF  EGYPT 

a  love  story  without  asterisks 


DAMARIS    bowed   her   head    so    that   the    curls 
danced  and  glistened  in  the  light,  as  the  tor- 
rent  of  his   words,   in   the   Egyptian  tongue, 
swept  about  her  like  a  flood. 

"Hast  thou  come  to  me  in  love,  thou  dove  from  the 
nest?  Nay,  what  knowest  thou  of  love?  I  ask  it  not 
of  thee — yet — but  the  seed  I  shall  plant  within  thee 
shall  grow  in  the  passing  of  the  days  and  the  nights  and 
the  months  and  the  years,  until  it  is  as  a  grove  of 
perfumed  flowers  which  shall  change  to  golden  fruit 
ready  to  the  plucking  of  my  hand." 

He  pressed  her  little  hands  back  against  her  breast  so 
that  the  light  fell  full  upon  her  face,  and  he  held  her 
thuswise,  watching  the  colour  rise  and  fade. 

"Allah!"  he  whispered.  "Allah!  God  of  all,  what 
have  I  done  to  deserve  such  signs  of  Thy  great  good- 
ness? Wilt  thou  love  me?"  He  laughed  gently.  "Canst 
thou  look  into  mine  eyes  and  shake  thy  golden  head 
which  shall  be  pillowed  upon  my  heart — my  wife — the 
mother  of  my  children  ?  Look  at  me !  Look  at  me !  Ah ! 
thine  eyes,  which  were  as  the  pools  of  Lebanon  at  night, 
are  as  a  sun-kissed  sea  of  love.  Thou  know'st  it  not, 
but  love  is  within  thee — for  me,  thy  master." 

And  was  there  not  truth  in  what  he  said?  May  there 
not  have  been  love  in  the  heart  of  the  girl? 

Not,  maybe,  the  love  which  stands  sweet  and  sturdy 
like  the  stocky  hyacinth,  to  bloom  afresh,  no  matter  how 
often  the  flowers  be  struck,  or  the  leaves  be  bruised, 


THE  HAWK  OF  EGYPT 

from  the  humdrum  bulb  deep  in  the  soil  of  quiet  con- 
tent. But  the  God-given,  iridescent  love  of  youth  for 
youth,  with  its  passion  so  swift,  so  sweet ;  a  love  like  the 
rose-bud  which  hangs  half-closed  over  the  door  in  the 
dawn ;  which  is  wide-flung  to  the  sun  at  noon ;  which 
scatters  its  petals  at  dusk. 

The  rose ! 

She  has  filled  your  days  with  the  memory  of  her 
fragrance;  her  leaves  still  scent  the  night  from  out  the 
sealed  crystal  vase  which  is  your  heart. 

But  an'  you  would  attain  the  priceless  boon  of  peace, 
see  to  it  that  a  humdrum  bulb  be  planted  in  the  brown 
flower-pot  which  is  your  home. 

And  because  of  this  God-given  love  of  youth  which 
was  causing  her  heart  to  thud  and  the  blood  to  race 
through  her  veins,  she  did  not  withdraw  her  hands  when 
he  held  and  kissed  them  and  pressed  his  forehead  upon 
them. 

"Lotus-flower,"  he  whispered  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  hear.  "Bud  of  innocence !  ivory  tower  of 
womanhood  I  temple  of  love!  Beloved,  beloved,  I  am  at 
thy  feet."  And  he  knelt  and  kissed  the  little  feet  in  the 
heelless  little  slippers ;  then,  rising,  took  both  her  hands 
and  led  her  to  the  door;  and  his  eyes  "ore  tilled  with  a 
great  sadness,  in  spite  of  the  joy  which  sang  in  his 
heart  as  he  took  her  into  the  shelter  of  his  arms. 

"I  love  thee  too  well,"  he  said,  as  he  bent  and  kissed 
the  riotous  curls  so  near  his  mouth.  "Yes,  I  love  thee 
too  well  to  snatch  thee  even  as  a  hungry  dog  snatches 
his  food,  though,  verily,  I  be  more  near  to  starving  than 
any  hungry  dog.  What  dost  thou  know  of  love,  of  life, 
in  the  strange  countries  ?f  the  East?     For  thy  life  will 


"/  have  owned  a  hundred  women! ' 

he  answered  defiantly. 

The  girl  recoiled  as  from  a  blow.  Was  this  man 
who  paraded  his  conquests  before  her  the  same  one 
who  had  feasted  so  freely  on  her  lips  that  moonlit 
night  in  Grand  Canary? 

She  was  his  prisoner  now.  He  had  stolen  her  and 
brought  her  to  his  stronghold  in  the  desert.  Her 
father  was  also  a  captive.  Pansy  Langham's  life  had 
crashed  in  ruins  about  her.  What  good  were  her  mil- 
lions now?  The  mask  had  been  removed.  Raoul  Le- 
Breton  was  the  Sultan  Casim  El  Ammeh! — a  Moham- 
medan! 

And  yet  she  wanted  no  man's  kisses  but  his.  Love 
for  him  consumed  her,  but  race  and  religion  stood 
between  them. 

Little  did  she  guess  that  the  Arab  had  foreseen 
this  minute,  that  he  had  trailed  her  father,  Sir  George 
for  fifteen  years.  The  Englishman,  a  captain  at  the 
time,  had  killed  his  father.  Casim  El  Ammeh  had  not 
forgotten.     Revenge  was  his  at  last! 

He  had  intended  having  his  way  with  her  and 
then  selling  her  as  a  slave — a  fate  more  cruel  than  a 
white  man  could  conceive.  But  love — an  emotion  an 
Arab  scoffs  at — had  come  to  thwart  him.  Was  he  to 
forego  his  oath  of  an  eye  for  an  eye,  or  open  the  doors 
of  his  harem  and  seek  forgetfulness? 

Read 

A  Son  of  the  Sahara 

By  Louise  Gerard 

Who  gives  you  the  real  thrill  of  the 

Great  Desert 

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